Night Rise
by AdmiralCats
Summary: (Bad Company: Book 16) At this point, Drake has learned that no trip away from base will ever be uneventful, especially since it's never a vacation. Waiting for his teammates to heal is a test of his patience, and gives him an idea of how they saw him while he himself was incapacitated.
1. Chapter 1

Over this last week, I've come to the conclusion that I need to come up with a creative way to smuggle my damn journal around with me. I know the last thing I want to do is lose it, but that's where the "creative" part comes in.

I don't exactly want to remember what happened in Romania anyway, but that's not something I have control of.

I'll sum it up; we were sent in to assist the Romanian Army with clearing military insurgents out and driving them into the mountains, where they'd most likely be trapped and forced to surrender. What we (the USCM) didn't know was that this particular group had a silver flower chemical weapon, and we were informed a little late on that. Hudson and I had gotten ourselves separated from the rest of the unit, and in the meantime, Hicks received a bullet wound to the shoulder.

With Hicks down, we struggled not to panic, not to mention, we had no idea if he was going to survive, because we couldn't airlift him out. I managed to regroup with everyone, but Hudson was missing. That definitely sent everyone into a panic.

We could've easily fallen back behind the Romanian Army in order to put Hicks in a field hospital, but we refused to leave without Hudson. However, things got complicated again when we found that the insurgents were tracking all radio signals within a certain radius, which meant that sending and receiving messages would render us sitting ducks. We initiated silence, but it broke everyone's hearts when we heard Hudson trying to patch through to us. He was stuck somewhere, and he needed help.

Dietrich caved in and replied to him when the army launched a speedy tank assault near one of the insurgents' nests, distracting them. Partly. They still had a damn good idea of where Hudson was, and that was roughly around the time when we learned from Captain Silivasi, an armored division commander, that we needed to be on the lookout for guys carrying silver flower gas. Of course, they tried to flush Hudson out of this abandoned radio station by gassing the building. If we weren't all equipped with masks before the mission started, he would've been a goner.

Hudson managed to escape, and met up with us. The poor guy was dehydrated, starving, bruised up, and had breathed in a very small trace of the poison. It wasn't enough to knock him out and make him hallucinate, but it was enough to sap his energy and make him feel sick.

The hostiles had launched a surprise attack, and, sure enough, they jammed the tube of a gas pack into a vent shaft on the APC, pumping the vehicle full of the shit. Getting Hicks out was our first priority. Ferro and Spunkmeyer tried carrying his stretcher out, but Spunkmeyer didn't make it. Ferro had felt his grip go slack, and forced herself to drag Hicks out on her own. Her screaming for Spunkmeyer cut through everyone's soul.

Hudson, who had been carried out by Wierzbowski, put his mask back on so he could charge in and pull Spunkmeyer out. With no air support, we were all afraid Spunkmeyer would die on us.

Dietrich had to revive him.

And that's where I panicked.

I was so gripped by flashbacks and anxiety that I was throwing up. The voices of the doctors from when I was being revived on the orbital lab were loud and clear. I jolted with the memory of the defibrillator being slammed against my chest. I couldn't breathe.

Just like in all my nightmares. Dear God, I was living my nightmares . . .

It got to the point where Apone ordered Dietrich to sedate me so I didn't hurt myself. The next several hours were fuzzy and I have no clear memories of what happened, but I do remember I had to be removed from the combat zone, as did Hudson.

Hudson didn't leave my side. He held onto me and did his best to let me know he was there, and that he wasn't going to leave me. When we got to Bucharest, however, we were separated so we could be examined. I was still in shock, so I refused to answer anyone's questions, and I got placed on suicide watch. I didn't calm down until Hudson was allowed in my room to talk to me. Even then, I still felt rattled. I couldn't eat or drink or sleep.

Spunkmeyer was stabilized and had to be put in cryosleep in order to be transported overseas. Yes, that meant he was going to D.C. to be treated by Doctor Hornby. I demanded that I go with him, and Dietrich didn't hesitate to let me, mainly because Apone said I needed some time off for my mental health. Plus, Ferro was begging to go, as well as Hudson, but he had his own reasons.

So, we're staying at the same place I've always stayed at, and keeping ourselves updated on Spunkmeyer. The worst we've gotten is that the regular medication that both Hudson and Hicks were on is no longer on the table, because, get this, Spunkmeyer's allergic to Annexers. Injecting him with their hormone could kill him, and it almost did.

At the time of this entry, we have no idea if Delhoun and Hornby have come up with something that will help Spunkmeyer. I'm hoping they've found something and are implementing it now.

* * *

Hudson has been a little on edge ever since we got here, and I feel bad for him. He keeps feeling as though he's back in that station, trapped, alone, and without resources. At least he's open about it, and with his other problems. Last night, he was telling me how he can't remember any of his dreams and hallucinations from when he was stuck in Hornby's lab almost nine months ago.

It's normal that most people can't remember dreams once they wake up, but with silver flower poisoning, it's a little different. The dreams and hallucinations are vivid, and traumatizing. Hudson was pondering all this while trapped in Romania, and he wants to know what his dreams were in order to figure out if they had said anything about himself.

Silver flower dreams have one thing in common; they focus on the self. At least that's what I've read when I looked up articles in a cybercafé this morning. They tend to peer into parts of yourself that you don't like, or that you need to develop. With me, it was my lack of connections with my teammates. It was my fear of being a failure. I've always been afraid of being a failure, so that's what those dreams centered on. Why it happens is unknown. Perhaps it's the trauma associated with it; you're certain you're going to die, so everything you've bottled up comes to the surface of your mind and becomes the center of your dreams.

I have a vague idea of what Hudson's dreams may have been, but I don't want to assume anything. He may've had a pleasant dream about drinking lots of beer without getting drunk and eating lots of junk food without getting fat for all I know.

Anyway, I understand how he's been feeling the last few days, and I'm making it my job to keep him sane until we get back to Spain and he can talk to Doctor Ranelli.

Oh, I'm not done yet with what's happened before I managed to get my hands on a cheap journal and pen. We found out Hicks has a romantic past-sorta. Hudson ran into a corporal named Paige Carlisle, who was in a relationship with Hicks after his friend committed suicide. They kept in contact for awhile until Carlisle's unit got sent to LV-109 and had no contact with civilization for a few months. Hicks had still been writing to her, but gave up when he didn't get any responses. As far as I know, Hudson convinced Carlisle to call Hicks and talk to him, hopefully rekindle what they had.

Listen, breaking Hicks's heart and making him upset is a major offense in my book. I'll punch the lights out of anyone who hurts him, physically or emotionally. My plan for today is to call Apone and see if Hicks was available to talk.

* * *

Around noon, I grabbed a sandwich and worked my way through it while heading to a USCM call center. Once there, I pulled my information out of my wallet, and began making my call.

I breathed a sigh of relief when Apone told me that Hicks had been treated and was recovering on base, but he wouldn't be seeing action for a couple months. I was just glad he was gonna be OK.

A minute later, I heard Hicks's voice. "Hey, Drake. Everything alright?"

"So far. Almost, I guess," I said.

"How's Spunkmeyer?"

"I don't know. They can't give him the medication because he's allergic to Annexers."

"Jesus," Hicks sighed. "Any idea when he'll be out?"

"No. They need a flushing agent for him."

"Damn." Hicks was silent for a moment, and I could practically feel his sadness three thousand miles away. "This wouldn't have happened if I didn't get shot and they didn't have to carry me out."

"Hey, don't think like that. He's gonna be fine. Look, I've got . . . other news for you. Did you . . . Did you hear anything from a Paige Carlisle?"

Hicks sighed again. "As a matter of fact, I did. I-I still can't believe you guys happened to run into her. I just . . ." He swallowed, and I heard him sob. "I don't know what to say."

"Are you and her getting back together?"

"We're gonna try. I just want to talk to her in person right now."

My heart was aching a little listening to him. I understood how he felt, and how much I wanted to talk to my girlfriend as well. I sure as hell wasn't saying that, but it made me wonder whether or not it would be a good idea to tell Hicks that Vasquez and I are a couple. "Focus on getting better," I said. "Hopefully, we'll all be back soon. Can you . . . Can you get Wierzbowski? I wanna talk to him."

"Sure. Good luck, Drake. Let me know when you guys are coming home."

I rubbed my face, wishing we could just leave right now. No, I'm not leaving Spunkmeyer alone here. Never.

Wierzbowski's voice shook me from my thoughts. "What's going on, Drake?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"I don't think I've caught up on sleep yet, that's for sure. You definitely sound a little tired."

"I feel drained, but I'm surprisingly not as bad as Hudson right now."

"I can't imagine he took his experience too well."

"There's just . . . a lot he needs that he doesn't have access to right now. I think Ranelli is his best bet for help. I don't think he's gonna end up like me, but we're trying to keep that from happening."

"He'll probably feel better when he comes home. We'll be with him and he has all the help he wants. Yeah, I wouldn't worry too much, Drake. Just be his friend, like you've been with me."

I weakly smiled. "Thanks. How's Vasquez doing?"

"She misses you. I'm really trying to be . . . you know, friendly to her, and she's not taking it."

"Don't expect her to take it overnight. Ever. Just be patient and don't let up. Be gentle, but don't let up."

"Geez, Drake, how much more gentle can I get?"

"I dunno." I sighed, feeling like I had run out of things to say. "I guess I'll talk to you guys later. Let everyone know I miss them, I'm doing OK, Hudson's OK, Ferro's OK. Nothing on Spunkmeyer."

"Will do. Thanks for your concern. Have a good night."

* * *

I guess you could say Ferro and I looked like a couple of old people, sitting in comfy beds in our nightclothes, at only eight PM, flipping through television channels. I'm pretty sure others would say we should be out in bars, or a nightclub, or something.

"Is Hudson next door?" I asked.

"Yeah. He was already half-asleep, which isn't like him. I think he's lonely," Ferro replied.

"He can come sit with us whenever he wants. Just not when I'm sleeping." I left the TV on a pre-season baseball game. "He's probably missing Miranda."

"I can imagine. I'll bet you're missing Vasquez."

"I am," I sighed. "I miss everyone, actually, but, yeah, I miss Vasquez most of all. I wish we had gotten her to come along."

"I just hope we get some kind of update on Spunkmeyer tomorrow."

"I do, too. And I hope he'll be able to pull through the recovery."

I'm not entirely sure if that conversation was going to continue or not, but it was stopped by the phone ringing. I picked it up, giving another sigh. "Hello?"

"Drake, I need you to come down to the hospital, now," Delhoun said.

"Why?"

"Just do it. I've got a job for you."

"I'm in my fucking pajamas."

"Change."

I hung up the phone, and got out of bed. "I'll be back."

"What's going on?" Ferro asked.

"Delhoun's got something for me to do, I guess." I took off my shorts and grabbed a pair of uniform trousers from my bag. "Sorry."

"For what?"

"For . . . leaving."

"If it's Delhoun asking, I'm pretty sure it's got something to do with Spunkmeyer. Just go, and don't be such a complainer."

"I will complain all I want," I said, tucking my shirt in my pants. "Why don't you go next door and talk to Hudson?"

* * *

I had a hard time covering up my displeasure about being dragged out of bed right when I was going to fall asleep, and I didn't care that Delhoun could see it written all over my face. He made me sit in his lab, and took a chair over to face me. "Would it make you perk up if I told you that we've devised a way to help Spunkmeyer?"

"I guess it would," I said.

"Good. After doing some research, Hornby and I found that there is synthetic Annexer hormone, free of the stuff that would provoke an allergic reaction. The only catch is that . . . we don't have access to it, and formulating our own will take too much time. However, the people who do have it are the same ones who have built and sold silver flower weapons."

"You're not saying I have to go back to Romania, are you?"

"No. You have to make a short flight to the Bahamas."

"Why?"

"The USCM has been monitoring a group of tech terrorists that have been responsible for sabotaging Weyland-Yutani projects over the last ten years or so. Not only have they stolen computers and androids and the like, but they've also developed the silver flower bioweapon, and sold it to other terrorist organizations around the globe."

"And they're based in the Bahamas."

"That's where they make the antidote. I'm asking you to go there, and take as many antidotes as you can."

"Delhoun, I could get myself killed."

"You're not going completely alone." Delhoun stood up, and walked over to the Annexer enclosures. He pulled out a set of keys, and unlocked one of them. When he held out his arm, a Polar Annexer leapt onto his shoulders. "Drake, I'd like you to meet Anubis. He'll be your partner."

The white-clad Annexer glanced at Delhoun, and snorted, as if to say that this was a joke.

"I'm not all that surprised he doesn't like me," I said.

"Nonsense. Here, hold out your arm."

Nervously, I extended my right arm. Anubis continued to switch his masked gaze between me and Delhoun.

"Where are the bones Ursa Major gave you?"

I reached into my jacket, pulling out the bone necklace.

I'm guessing Polar Annexers are supposed to automatically respect you when they see you have the bones of the marbled hare around your neck. Anubis took a cautious step forward onto my arm, sniffing. He took his sweet time, but he was eventually perched on my shoulders.

"I think you two are a good match," Delhoun said.

"Why not Ursa Major?" I asked. "I at least semi-bonded with him."

"He's not as . . . combat-hardened as Anubis," Delhoun replied. "Where you're going, you'll need someone who isn't going to let up easily on opponents. Trust me."

"Right. So, the plan is drop me off in the Bahamas, grab some antidote vials, and get out with my ass intact."

"That's correct. Think you can handle it?"

"You're paying for my funeral, buddy."

* * *

I was given a harness so I could have some minor control over Anubis, and because most places don't allow animals to be off their leashes. I still had a sense that he didn't trust me, or like me, or whatever. That's fine; hopefully, we'll grow to like each other as time goes on.

Delhoun gave me tickets, a small map, and documents so I could take Anubis on the plane. I demanded that he tell Ferro and Hudson, and he promised that he would.

Anubis was quiet and fairly obedient. He's definitely not the cuddly type of Annexer, like Winnie, but at least he wasn't vicious, like Dakota. I felt like it had a lot to do with his breed, and maybe even things in his past. His behavior suggested he may have been a security animal at some point.

I should've asked Delhoun before leaving. Then again, a part of me doesn't care, and just wants to get this done and over with.

There was also a part of me that wondered why Delhoun wanted me to do this. Was it because I had experience? That had to be it. The only thing keeping me from calling it quits was that this supposed antidote would help Spunkmeyer. I don't want to be responsible for him not being able to recover.


	2. Chapter 2

The flight wasn't that long, and I slept for the majority of it. As far as I know, Anubis was well-behaved, not making much of a peep during the whole flight.

I had to quickly change into civilian clothing in order to blend in, and look like a tourist. The tropical heat and humidity of the Bahamas was very welcome after the miserable, cold, wetness in D.C., and the equally miserable weather in the Mediterranean. I realized I wasn't going to look like I travel often, no matter what outfit I chose; I'm ridiculously pale.

There was a small clothing shop right in the airport, so I figured I'd grab a few cheap things there. Anubis lay at my boots while I browsed the racks.

"Definitely no Hawaiian shirts," I muttered, showing Anubis the colorful floral patterns. "No bright colors." I was still a little drowsy, so it wasn't a surprise that I was talking to myself.

I picked out some T-shirts and cargo shorts, and had to carry around my military clothing in a black backpack. Aside from the fact that I have an alien on a leash, I looked pretty normal.

The facility where this antidote is made is most likely on another island, but it wouldn't surprise me if this terrorist group had people planted all over the country to "take care" of anyone who looked remotely suspicious. I had to appear as though I was on vacation, and make sure no one got on my back. That would take time, and Spunkmeyer doesn't have much time.

Still, I'd rather have this be a relatively smooth operation. When the beaches started opening for the day, I decided to rent a chair and lay out. I was glad the beach wasn't overly crowded, but there were still too many people for me to be happy.

You know how I said earlier that I'm pale because I've been living in cold places for the last five months or so? That was a pretty bad understatement. I pulled off my shirt to reveal a snow-white belly. Honestly, I hoped to God no one was watching, because it was embarrassing. Not to mention, I'd probably catch fire after only a minute exposed to the sun, so I had to leave Anubis by the chair so no one took my spot while I bought sunscreen. I can't afford to have a sunburn when I'm ready to steal some antidote, because it would fucking hurt.

I put my shirt back on before walking into a shop parked near the vegetation separating the road from the beach. I got a bottle of strong sunscreen, two towels, sunglasses, and an umbrella, because I'm pretty sure I won't be able to lay out for too long, even with sunscreen on. And I got a couple snacks because I'm not waiting for the burger stand to open for lunch if I start feeling hungry.

When I got back to my spot, I noticed there were more people. A group of kids had set up a volleyball net not that far from where I was laying, but I don't give a crap as long as I'm not smacked with a ball. I pulled off my shirt, and squeezed a massive handful of sunscreen into my palm before lathering it all over my torso. I then set up the umbrella, and pulled my chair out from under it.

Once my sunglasses were on, I could not be bothered to get up. It felt so nice to do absolutely nothing. My mind was actually settled, which made my blood pressure drop a little. I focused on listening to the waves lapping at the shoreline. All I had to worry about was not burning myself.

I'm not sure how much time had passed when I heard something plop in the sand near me, followed by someone running over.

"Hey, mister! Can we have our ball back?"

I turned to see a boy with curly blond hair looking at me. The volleyball was right next to my chair. "Come get it yourself," I said.

"Casey, where's the ball?" one of the other boys yelled.

I sighed. "Seriously, kid, just come grab the ball."

I was beginning to think that the kid had been taught not to go near strangers, because he wasn't budging. Sighing again, I grabbed the ball, and tossed it to him. He caught it, and glanced at Anubis. "Cool dog."

"That's not a dog," I said. "It's an alien."

"Well, that just makes it cooler."

"You think so?" I jerked my thumb in Anubis's direction. "These guys are a lot of work. More work than a dog."

"Is he yours?"

"No. I'm just watching him for a friend. Don't touch him, seriously. They got claws that'll tear you to shreds."

Anubis cooed at me, and not in a friendly way.

"Yeah, you," I said to him.

The kid, Casey, smirked, but looked over his shoulder when he heard one of the other kids yelling at him. "See ya, mister." He ran back to the net, tossing the ball over.

I went back to doing nothing. I did eventually drag my chair back under the umbrella when I noticed my skin was hot to the touch, but I hoped that would put a little bit of color on me. I also hoped that if any spies saw me, they assumed I was just a tourist. I don't look that suspicious, do I?

More time passed. I noticed the kids' volleyball game had ended, and while the rest were going back to their families, Casey was walking over to me. "Hey, mister."

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Thought we could talk more. You seem cool."

"Didn't your mom teach you not to talk to strangers?"

"You're not a stranger no more."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Ma says when you talk to someone for the first time, and get a good feeling 'bout them, they's a friend waitin' to happen." Casey crouched in the sand by my chair, and looked at me. He then pointed at my boots. "Hey, those're Marine boots! You a real soldier?"

"Yep."

"Cool! Wait till I tell the other kids I met a real Marine. You guys are badass. I collect plastic soldiers, y'know. I got the riflemen, the medic, smartgunner-"

"I'm a smartgunner," I said.

"That's even better. What's your name?"

"Drake."

"You're a cool guy, Drake. I like you. Say, whatcha doing out here anyway? Is there a base out here?"

"If there was, I couldn't tell you. I'm here for the same reason you are-vacation, well, we call it 'leave.'"

"How long you gonna be here?"

"Probably a couple days. Not that long."

"We gonna be here a whole week. We're goin' sailing tomorrow. Gonna see stuff we don't got back home."

"Where're you from?" I asked.

"Georgia. You?"

"Pennsylvania." _Leave it at that. He's getting too close to all the shit you don't want to talk about._

Casey dug up a shell. "How long you been a Marine?"

"Three years."

"Been in combat?"

"Sure have. Several times, actually."

Casey jogged out to the water to wipe the sand off his shell, and then ran back. "You here by yourself?"

"Pretty much."

"You got a family of your own?"

"No."

"How come?"

"Hard to explain."

"Adult stuff?"

"You could put it that way, yeah." Internally, I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn't want to attempt explaining myself to this kid.

"Do you like being alone?"

"Sometimes. There are times where I need to be alone." I glanced at Casey. "It's probably not something you'll understand till you're older."

"You got the sadness? OK, I know that's not what it's called. It means sadness. Heard Ma say it. Starts with a D-"

"Depression."

"Yeah. Depression. You got that? That why you like being alone? Ma works with people who got problems inside their heads. Says it's common for people with . . . depression to like being alone."

I adjusted the chair so I could sit up. "Well, there are plenty of people who like being alone that aren't depressed. I know some like that in my unit, but, yeah, I'm depressed. There're a lot of things wrong with me right now."

"Like what?"

"It's not something I want to talk about, and it's not because I don't trust you or anything. That's just how I am. It takes a long time for me to even want to open up to people about what's going on."

"Not mad at you, Drake, y'know, if that's what you're worried about." Casey looked up at me. "I'll bet that's why you're here. You're lookin' to just empty your head."

I can't fault the kid for not completely understanding. However, he wasn't wrong about me wanting to just empty my head. Even though I didn't tell him my story, he seemed to grasp that I was uncomfortable, and respected that. I think he also liked that I wasn't talking down to him, or telling him to move on to something more appropriate for his age.

The conversation ended there. I was expecting Casey to go back to his parents, but he stayed with me, continuing to dig in the sand and pulling up shells and stuff like that. He was separating them by size, and when he decided to stop digging, he began using a shell with a sharp point at one end to poke holes in some of the other shells.

Again, I don't know how much time went by. We had to have been sitting there for hours, and I silently cursed myself. _Hornby and Delhoun can't keep Spunkmeyer on support forever. I have to get that antidote soon. _By now, I'm pretty sure I didn't look suspicious to anyone. My next task was getting a weapon of some kind and finding the facility where that antidote is made.

Casey turned around quickly when he heard a woman calling his name, and we saw who I assumed to be his mother walking over to us.

"Are you bothering people, hon?" the woman asked. "Been looking all over for you."

"Sorry, Ma. Been talking with Drake. He's a Marine."

The woman waved to me. "Hi. I'm sorry 'bout Casey. Hope he wasn't-"

"He's fine," I said. "I've enjoyed his company, actually."

"Well, that's good. Come on, Casey, we're gonna go get lunch. We might be able to come back later, OK?"

"OK, Ma." Casey stood up, and turned to face me. "Open your hand."

I did, and he gently placed some of his shells in my palm.

"Thought these'd look good on your necklace thing." He gestured to the bones and pendent around my neck.

I managed to grin a little. "Thanks."

Casey smiled as well, and stuck out his hand. "It was nice to meet you, Drake."

I gave his hand a firm shake. "And it was nice to meet you, as well. Take care, and behave yourself, alright?"

"Right. See ya."

To be honest, I was sad to see him go. At the same time, I knew I couldn't afford to put off getting the antidote for Spunkmeyer for much longer.

* * *

It was close to four-thirty in the afternoon when I finally gathered up the supplies I needed, and got the location of this facility. As I thought, it was on an isolated island, but much to my surprise, it wasn't heavily guarded.

I had stowed away on board a civilian vessel set to pass close to this island. With an old AK-style weapon equipped with a small flamethrower attachment slung over my shoulder, I dove into the piss-warm water, and started swimming to shore. I could see a building about the size of what you'd expect a high school to be through the trees. The humidity had dropped a little, so it didn't take too long for me to start drying off. I mean, most of my shirt got dry, but there's no worse feeling in the world than wet underpants.

This is generally not what smartgunners are trained to do. We typically hang back and let the agile riflemen (usually Hicks, Frost, and Crowe) scout forward. The bigger and less-stealthy guys (Hudson and Wierzbowski) will go when the others give the all-clear, and then me and Vasquez will come through. If this had been a unit effort, I wouldn't be crawling through the jungle; I'd be waiting for Hicks and the others to clear out the guards and yell for me to provide cover fire.

Well, this wasn't a unit effort, and I'm on my own with an Annexer for support. Anubis was ahead of me, sniffing out a clear path for us to get in. He gave a short screech, mimicking a tropical bird you'd see around here. Crouching next to him, I pulled some leaves out of my way to see the main gates of the facility. There were two guards standing in front of them, and behind the fence were more guards, pacing with dogs.

I looked at Anubis. "You got a plan?"

He nodded, and darted up the nearest tree. A few seconds later, a strong stench saturated the warm air. I gagged and felt my stomach contort.

The dogs went nuts. They barked at their handlers and in the direction where Anubis marked his territory in the tree. The guards opened the gates, running to investigate what the dogs were smelling. With them all distracted, I moved in, sprinting through the gates.

I didn't get in unseen. Someone hollered, "Shut the doors!" just as I threw myself inside the building. The doors were locked and sealed behind me, and alarms were going off everywhere.

"Some intruder! Main entrance!" someone yelled.

I flicked the safety off my weapon as guys rounded a corner. They barely got any shots off; once one was down, another would come, and then he went down. I kicked down a door, taking the fight into an empty laboratory. Lots of stuff to hide behind. Bullets shattered stasis tubes, spattering the floors and walls with cold fluid.

"Someone's gotta go protect the scientists!"

My gun ran dry, and I got behind a massive microscope to yank out the empty mag and insert a fresh one. There were several loud _clangs_ as bullets struck the side of the machine. I noticed a door leading to another lab on the other side of the room. The guards were yelling orders at each other, and some tried running toward me, only to be mowed down.

Someone shouted that they needed to get the wounded out and call for backup. I took that opportunity to run into the next lab, which was also not being used. The third one in a row was being used, and I charged through the door. A guard was trying to get the five scientists out, and blood spurted onto somebody's desk as I shot a single round through his head.

I locked all the doors, keeping my rifle trained on the scientists. "Hands up, all of you!"

Nervously, they put their hands over their heads.

I regained my breath, but my heart was still pounding. "Alright, where's the silver flower antidote? Tell me where it is, and no one's getting hurt."

They were all silent for a moment, but one of them opened his mouth to speak. "Second floor. S-Second floor, right next door to where they grow the flowers."

I lowered my weapon. "See? That wasn't so hard."

There was no way I was going out the door, but I heard screaming, and someone screeching, "_Kill it!_" They had to be talking about Anubis. There was banging and howling and the awful sound of a large animal ripping flesh with its claws.

I went through another door, and saw the fray through a window. Anubis was a terrifying black and white streak, tearing into anything within his reach. He had a guard in his grip, and another was coming up behind him. I shattered the window, firing several rounds at the approaching guard.

That hallway was now empty, littered with bloody bodies. I looked at Anubis. "Second floor. That's where the antidote is," I gasped.

Anubis nodded, and gestured for me to go on. He hardly knew me, and here he was trusting me to do this. Without a second thought, I started running. There was a dark stairwell at the end of the hall, and I could hear people yelling something about "two intruders, one human, one animal." I kept my gun at the ready, and found myself immediately in a fight as I came up the stairs.

Struggling to keep myself from getting shot, I fell backward, down the stairs. Time seemed to slow as I tumbled. The second floor guards followed me, all pointing their weapons at me. I watched my life flash before my eyes, and then I heard an ear-splitting screech. Anubis used me as a launchpad to hurl himself into the oncoming guards. Blood was soon running down the stairs as Anubis slashed his way through the men. Some of them were risking shooting their own comrades as they tried to stop the enraged Annexer. The blood was starting to pool around me, and I found some of it was mine from a nasty gash on the back of my upper arm from my fall.

Bodies were falling around me. I scrambled to get up, and forced my way upstairs. _Spunkmeyer owes me big-time for this, _I thought, breathing hard.

I was baffled to find the floor was deserted. Had we killed all the guards? Were the scientists hiding, or planning an attack against us? Gunshots and screaming were still ringing in my ears, though slowly fading. My heart continued to throb, but I was feeling sick; I haven't eaten much of anything, and my body was demanding energy. At the same time, I could tell my stomach didn't want to hold anything right now.

The silence was ten times scarier, and something was telling me to run. _They grow the flowers. They grow the flowers here._ I felt like crying, but I knew I had to keep going. I couldn't let this stop me.

Through a window, I saw hundreds of thousands of those little silver bastards sitting pretty in their rows of carefully prepared soil. The room was illuminated with their bright toxic glow. I suddenly felt as though someone had their hand around my throat. I heard glass shattering as Delhoun freed me from the lab. I heard the doctors saying they were gonna lose me.

Anubis trotted up to me, studying my panic attack while I was slumped on the floor. His ears were still flat against his head as he rested his forehead against mine, slowly nuzzling me. I gripped his head, rubbing his jet-black fur, tears running down my face. "I can't do it. Help me," I breathed.

He looked me in the eye, and took my hands in his bloody paws, gently pulling them away. He rested my left hand on one of my pockets, the one where I had put the shells Casey gave me.

My thoughts turned to Casey, and to Spunkmeyer, and to Hudson, and Ferro, and Vasquez, Wierzbowski, Hicks, and Miranda. I knew they all believed I could do this if they knew, and I wanted to go back to them, triumphant. They would not let me quit now.

Slowly, I stood up. A sense of bravery and courage kicked in as I jogged to the lab where the antidote was supposedly kept. Sure enough, there were hundreds of large, covered syringes full of a clear substance. All were marked "silver flower emergency antidote." I began grabbing handfuls of syringes and putting them in my backpack. It would be enough to help Spunkmeyer and allow Hornby's team to study and duplicate the medicine.

As I prepared to make my escape, I remembered the flowers were right next door. Instead of fear, I felt rage. I wanted to completely annihilate the lab. Plants are flammable, right? I knew there was a reason I shelled out extra money to have that thing connected to my rifle.

There wasn't a lot of fuel in the little canister, so I needed to pray that once one flower caught fire, it would start a chain reaction, and spread quickly. I stepped back as I shot out the windows to the lab, and then gripped the flamethrower's trigger. The room lit up like a Christmas tree as a jet of fire flew from the weapon's muzzle.

I think my heart stopped for a minute when a massive explosion flung me backward.

* * *

_Question: How would Drake's actions be different if Hudson or another one of his teammates had accompanied him on this mission?_

_Author's Note: Several times, I've thought about having Drake set fire to a room full of silver flowers, and interacting with a child character, and I've scrapped both ideas multiple times out of fear they'd be way too similar to "Aliens." At the same time, it provides an interesting context for the upcoming alternate-ending story, and could help Drake connect with Ripley. I became less afraid to make a younger character for Drake to interact with when thinking about how many times I've written that he seriously doubts his abilities as a future father. I think once he gets over his nerves, he'd get really fussy and protective, which would straight-up annoy the crap out of Vasquez._


	3. Chapter 3

I expected the flowers to catch fire and burn like any ordinary plant. I did not expect them to explode.

To be fair, I should have assumed it, because of the toxin they emit. That stuff could be combustible, and it is.

The explosion obliterated the lab, and sent me flying as hot, poisonous gas erupted from the shattered windows. I had no time to be scared, but I knew my braindead actions had done some damage to myself. The air had become thick and stuffy. The toxin and fire were hanging and swirling above me as I crawled out the door, coughing. Alarms were blaring all around me, and a computerized voice was ordering everyone left in the building to evacuate.

I suddenly felt a horrid clenching in my chest. I couldn't tell if it was muscles or my lungs or my heart. Something was wrong, and I had the sense I was in one of my nightmares again. No, I was actually living in a nightmare. I couldn't afford to panic.

I kept crawling despite an intensifying pain, and difficulty breathing. I was completely unsure of where I was going, and I felt dizzy and sick.

Things could only get worse, my friend. I was hearing voices. I heard my friends and teammates gasping and choking, and saw them collapsing in the hallway. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't because I had no air to do so.

A pair of jaws appeared around my neck. Without drawing blood, Anubis was trying to carry me like he would an Annexer kit. He dragged me to a window with a fire escape, and struggled to push me outside. With no strength, I fell down into the jungle like a ragdoll, my arms and legs getting scratched up by branches.

I still couldn't breathe. Anubis continued to drag me along the forest floor until we came to the beach, a good distance away from the facility. I don't know if it was where we had entered, but it really doesn't matter, to be honest.

I wasn't going to survive if I didn't get help, and I had no way of contacting anyone. By some miracle, my brain was clear enough to remember that I had twenty or so vials of antidote in my backpack, and I scrambled to pull one out. I popped off the cap, revealing a large needle. Despite my nausea, I managed to jam it into a vein in my left arm, squeezing down hard on the top of the syringe to get the medicine into me as fast as I could. I suddenly felt as though I had been dropped in a pool of icy water. Every muscle became sore.

Dropping the empty syringe in the sand, I started vomiting a runny, silver slime. My stomach and chest were heaving and tightening with every round of gunk coming up. Even when I stopped puking, I was sweating and bleeding more silver fluid. I felt weak, and I struggled to process what just happened.

Before I could try to think, I curled up in the sand, promptly losing consciousness.

* * *

My sense of touch was the first thing that returned, and I could feel someone was cradling me in their arms. Next was my hearing.

"He's alive. I can feel his heart beating. Drake-" Wierzbowski gently shook me. "Drake, come on. Please." I heard a sob, and Wierzbowski held me tighter, pressing his forehead against mine. "Don't do this, Drake. I know you got the strength in you. Come on, please, wake up."

"We're almost there! We'll get him to a hospital!" Dietrich shouted. "Carry him back on the plane!"

I felt myself being lifted up. Wierzbowski ran with me to a waiting plane. My consciousness started returning, slowly, once I was laid down on a stretcher.

"What in God's name happened?" Hicks whispered.

"We're not gonna know till he wakes up," Apone replied.

"Might be soon. His pulse is getting stronger," Dietrich informed them. "Stand back. Give him room."

It took a few minutes, but I was soon fully conscious, though I still felt incredibly weak.

Wierzbowski let go of his breath. "Thank God," he whispered.

"This isn't a hallucination, is it?" I asked.

"No. We're all real, I promise," Apone said. "Are you OK?"

"I'm not sure. C-Can I sit up, please?"

Once I was upright, I did my best to explain what had happened, starting with Delhoun informing me, Hudson, and Ferro that Spunkmeyer is allergic to Annexers. There were definitely some details left out, but I got weaker the more I talked.

"So many things could've gone wrong here," Hicks muttered. I noticed a massive bandage on his left shoulder, under a civvie shirt. My guess is that he'd been allowed to wear civilian clothing for comfort as he healed.

"Delhoun shouldn't have done that," Apone added. "You could've died."

"I got the antidote. I succeeded," I sighed. "Don't get him in trouble, please? It's not like he was trying to get me killed. We needed to do this for Spunkmeyer."

Hicks looked at Apone. "What do you think?"

Apone shrugged. "I don't know. Could Spunkmeyer have waited?"

"No," I said. "He couldn't."

"Drake, what you did was noble," Hicks said. "Just worry about resting, OK?"

* * *

To summarize, my unit had received their orders to transfer base again, and it turns out we were being stationed just outside of D.C. A part of me thinks that Hicks had a hand in getting us there, because he wanted to speak to Carlisle in person, and so Spunkmeyer didn't have to travel far again for recovery. Someone (likely Hudson or Ferro) must have tipped them off that I was in the Bahamas on a dangerous task, so they swung by to look for me. It's a good thing they did, because God only knows how long I would've been there before nature claimed me, or someone else found me.

Delhoun and Hornby were glad that I ended up using the antidote on myself, because it showed them that this particular medicine is significantly better than their traditional mix. The side effects were minimal, and there was no risk of aggression, period. The main issue was severe weakness. Everyone recovers at their own pace.

I didn't want to be laid up in a hospital. I begged Delhoun to just be allowed to go with my unit to our new base, and, with some reluctance, he let me. For several hours, I lay in my room, recording everything that happened in the Bahamas.

Everyone was overjoyed when they walked in the gates of the D.C. base. Like Brisbane, we get our own rooms and showers. There are really nice civvie establishments on-site, there's a Metro stop underneath, and everything is clean. Honestly, if I wasn't sick, I would've sat in my bathroom for the next four hours.

I had just put my journal away when someone knocked on the door. It was, unsurprisingly, Wierzbowski, looking to see if I was OK.

"I'm fine for now," I said, sitting up.

"Well, good. I don't like being scared of my skin."

"Sorry. I kinda got poisoned." I rubbed my face, a sore feeling continuing to pulsate throughout my body. "It was my fault. I should've thought harder before obliterating the lab."

"You felt like it'd be some kind of revenge, I guess. I don't blame you for thinking that way."

"It was stupid."

There was a heavy silence for a moment, and in that short span of time, the floodgates in my head opened. All my thoughts and memories rushed out, and not the good ones. I came to the realization that I had indeed lived through another nightmare-right after the nightmare of seeing Spunkmeyer get gassed. I was setting myself back in my progress.

Without warning, I started crying, and Wierzbowski hugged me. "I don't want to do this anymore," I sobbed.

"Drake, don't talk like that. It's OK. You're alright."

I didn't hear Hicks enter the room until he spoke up. "What's going on?"

"I think everything just hit him," Wierzbowski replied.

Hicks paused, and then sat on the bed. "Kinda figured that. Doctor Ranelli wants to see him. I guess now's the perfect time."

Wierzbowski slowly let go of me, and helped me up so he and Hicks could walk me down to sick bay. When we arrived, Hicks ordered Wierzbowski to stay by the door, to help me when I was done. I have no idea how long it's gonna be before I can walk without feeling like I'm going to fall.

Ranelli's new office looked similar to his pervious one in Australia-spacious and comfortable. He had his portable appliances set up, and was trying to get me some tea as quickly as possible. He didn't bother with pleasant greetings; he sat across from me, sliding a steaming mug towards me, and looked me in the eye. "Tell me what happened."

Without skimping on the details, I told Ranelli what happened in the lab, how I completely destroyed it with a flamethrower. I told him about how I ended up poisoning myself. I described the hallucinations of hearing my friends screaming and choking. I described the sensations in my chest, and everything I felt when I managed to inject the antidote in my arm.

"Drake, the flower can't do anymore damage than it's already done. From what you've told me, I believe you have grown stronger. If this had taken place several months ago, you would've run. You would've been unable to go near that lab without collapsing in a fit of panic and flashbacks. You have not set yourself back. You've pushed yourself forward. Not by much, but you did. You didn't let your trauma completely paralyze you."

"Then why am I still scared? Why do I feel like I've . . . I've . . ."

"It's raw and fresh in your memory. It will fade in time. It could become a piece of your flashbacks when they occur, and that is all. It doesn't make your PTSD better or worse."

In all honesty, I think he's right. I wouldn't have had the courage to wreck the lab. I would've run away in a panic if this had happened not that long ago. That didn't take away from the awful feelings of regret and pain, but, at least I managed to turn my thoughts to something else when Ranelli said "It will fade in time." That something else was Hudson. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What can you do . . . for someone who's subconsciously been blocking certain memories?"

* * *

Ranelli wanted Hudson to be in total physical comfort for his session. That meant letting him eat and use the restroom beforehand. He was told to dress how he wanted, and he requested that I be in the room. I watched Hudson sit on the couch, looking nervous while he waited for Ranelli to dig up his tools from a messy desk drawer.

I really have no clue if hypnotism will work, but Ranelli swears by it. He said it's a natural way of getting Hudson to fully let his guard down in his head, so he can access those memories. I trust the guy, so what the hell.

Ranelli sat across from Hudson, holding a gold pocket watch on a chain. "Now, are you in any physical discomfort?"

Hudson shook his head.

"Good. All I want you to do is follow the watch with your eyes. Don't move your head . . . that's it. Keep following. Keep following."

Hudson's eyelids were getting heavier as he kept following the watch swing back and forth.

"When I count to three, you'll close your eyes, and listen to every word I say. One . . . two . . . three." Ranelli studied Hudson for a moment. "Picture your memories as a garden. The garden is surrounded by a fence. The gates are closed and locked to the outside. Imagine yourself standing outside the gate. The key is in one of your pockets. Take it out."

Hudson twitched. That had me fully convinced he was in that dream-trance state.

"Put the key in the gate's lock, and open them. Walk into the garden. All your memories are here. Picture your repressed memories as being in a small greenhouse in the center of the garden. The key to the greenhouse is also in your pocket."

Hudson twitched again.

"Open it. What is inside?"

Hudson gave a violent shudder. He grabbed his arms, rubbing them, and took a ragged breath. "It's dark. I see . . . I'm lying on the floor. I'm alone. I feel like . . . like nobody cares about me. I'm choking on something. I hear . . . a lot of crying. Someone's calling for me. I can't tell who. I'm trying to get up and help them, but I can't move. The crying is just getting louder and louder and I can't do anything. I'm trying to call back and I can't because I'm suffocating. I feel someone grab my hand. Someone's pulling on me. I try to grab onto them."

It didn't take me long to realize he was talking about when I was rescuing him from the abandoned building in Brisbane. I rubbed my face, trying not let my mind wander back to that day. Basically, he was recounting what happened, and I didn't like it.

Eventually, Hudson moved on to what happened while he was with Doctor Hornby. He was remembering screaming his throat raw, convinced he was going to die. He was remembering being restrained repeatedly, crying, begging to leave. He was remembering being forcibly made ill, to see how the toxin reacted to various common bacteria. He was remembering long nights where he was left alone, trapped in the laboratory. He was remembering a very high fever that occurred one night. "It was like . . . hot claws wrapped around my head," he was saying. "Usually, you don't think about your fever after awhile. This one didn't leave me alone."

When Hudson finished his account, Ranelli said, "Leave the garden. You will have locked everything back up, but you haven't forgotten what you have seen. I will count backward to one, and you will open your eyes to return to your day. Three . . . two . . . one."

There was complete silence as Hudson opened his eyes. He took a breath, looking uncertain as to where he was and what he was doing.

"Now, do you recall your dreams, hallucinations, and experiences from when you were poisoned?"

Hudson thought for a moment, and then nodded.

"Do you feel like they answered any questions you had?"

"I think they did. I just . . . need some time to think about it." Hudson was pale, and sweat was running down his face. He glanced over his shoulder at me, and opened his mouth to say something. He stopped, and looked down. "I'll . . . go get Wierzbowski."

Ranelli looked at me when Hudson left the room. "I'm surprised at how easy that was."

"What makes you say that?" I asked.

"Most people put up a series of resistances before they're able to unlock those memories. I think Hudson was nearing the point of exploding and shutting down over this. We caught it in time."

"What does all mean? He'll recover faster?"

"You mentioned that he was having a difficult time overcoming his experience in Romania, because he was afraid of ending up like you. I think the draining of these memories will grant him a quicker recovery from his trauma. He will not end up like you."

"Well, good. Is that . . . it?"

"No. Your job is to keep an eye on Hudson. I can't imagine seeing these things after fighting so hard to keep them locked away make him a happier person."

* * *

There was some good news that night; Spunkmeyer came home shortly before dinner. I've never seen Ferro so happy in the two years I've been with this unit. She hugged him tightly for a solid minute, and then sat down with him in the mess hall. We could all see he was exhausted, and just as weak as I was, so we left him alone.

Since we were all having dinner as a family, Apone explained to us the rules of our new base. As I figured, we were not allowed to go down to the Metro without a pass. Most of the civvie restaurants were off-limits to Marines under the rank of corporal. When we all heard that, everyone flat-out scowled.

"I don't make the rules, people," Apone said. "If you don't have an NCO or officer or a civilian with you, you're not allowed down there."

"Maybe we wouldn't be complaining about the bathrooms so much if we didn't get diarrhea every other day, man!" Hudson whined.

"And we'd have a lot more time for training if half of us weren't constipated," I mumbled.

"I'm not taking you all down to a restaurant every single meal," Hicks replied, not looking up from his tray.

"Can we at least get better food, man?" Hudson asked.

"Jesus, Hudson, do you think with anything else besides your stomach?" Frost replied.

"His balls, probably," Crowe chirped.

I snorted, earning me a hard elbow in the ribs from Wierzbowski.

"Hudson, you're being ungrateful," Hicks sighed. "We coulda got stuck in the middle of nowhere again. I put some work into getting us here, dammit. Don't embarrass us in front of the whole USCM. You want better food every fucking day? Come see me so we can terminate your fucking contract. Show everyone that you care more about yourself than the rest of your unit. I'm OK with that."

"You just crossed a line, man," Hudson growled.

"Oh, did I?"

"That's enough!" Apone yelled. "Hudson, siddown and shut up. Hicks, just relax."

Wierzbowski glanced at me when everyone went back to their own conversations. "We're not going to the lounge tonight."

"No, we're not," I whispered back.

Yeah, we really didn't want to go to the lounge that night. I think we both had a feeling fights were gonna break out. Instead, Wierzbowski and I visited Spunkmeyer in his room. At least he was happy to see us.

"'Evening, fellas," Spunkmeyer said, sitting up in bed. "How're yous?"

"Good. For the most part," I replied.

"Hey, I heard about . . . what happened, Drake. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I'm just glad we can induct you into the silver flower hall of fame." I weakly smiled.

"You jest. I know. Look, I hope I don't have to go through that again."

I resisted the urge to ask about his hallucinations.

"Do you know when you'll start getting your strength back?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Should be a week or so. Jesus Christmas, I was puking like a motherfucker when I got that shot. Just throwing up, and throwing up, and then it stops and I'm absolutely wiped out. I'm kinda laying there thinking, 'All I wanna do is sleep.' I sleep for a few hours, and then I wake up and I'm like, 'I'm hungry. Feed me, please.' The doctors say, 'Wait a few more hours. We don't want you vomiting again.' I give them the dirtiest look, and just, you know, lay back down because you can't argue with these people. What we had for dinner is all I've had since . . . before the mission in Romania. Look, I know Hudson is a whiner sometimes, but I couldn't help agreeing with him tonight about the food. I wanted something better and more filling."

"And Hicks would probably call you 'ungrateful,'" I muttered.

"Don't start." Wierzbowski rolled his eyes. "I think what Hicks said was perfectly valid. I certainly don't want to go back to the Hueco base. I don't care if we're not allowed in the civvie places by ourselves, just as long as we can have our own bathrooms and a soft bed."

"I remember the first time you actually complained about something, 'Ski," Spunkmeyer said. "Corporal Henley chewed your ass pretty bad."

"You know what? I don't want to remember that." Wierzbowski struggled to maintain a stoic expression, and then stood up. "I'll be in my room if anyone needs me."

* * *

_Question: How far has Drake really progressed? Would a new Marine suspect something was wrong with him just by looking at him?_


	4. Chapter 4

"Somebody's gotta come cart you off to bed, now," Spunkmeyer said, suppressing a laugh.

I glared at him. "Why did you say that to Wierzbowski?"

"I wasn't expecting him to get upset, Drake. I'm sorry. It was from an incident that happened a long time ago, and I thought . . . I thought he'd gotten over it by now."

"Apparently, he hasn't. What happened?"

"It's a long story. You sure you want me to tell it?"

"Tell it."

"OK, fine. So, when me and Ferro arrived here, we didn't have Hicks as our corporal. It was about a year before we got him. You know Henley used to be our corporal-he's a sergeant with his own unit now-and he was . . . he was fine, but he wasn't as good as Hicks. Anyways, we had been shipped to an island in the Caribbean to rescue a TV crew that had gotten stuck in the jungle during a bad storm. They had a ton of injured people that they couldn't move, so we had to go get 'em. Well, we had to cross several miles of jungle cliffs before getting to these people. I'm sitting with Ferro in the plane. All the comm lines are open in case someone needs help, and we're listening to pretty much everyone's conversations. They came to this big chasm, and right across the chasm was supposedly the camp that this TV crew had set up. The problem was how the hell're our guys gonna get across. Frost says, 'Either we go down and up, or we build a makeshift bridge.'

"Corporal Henley looks at Frost like he's nuts, and then says to Apone, 'A bridge is too dangerous. We're going down and up.' Apone looks at the two of 'em, and then calls up me and Ferro asking how much fuel we have, because we can fly over and lower a rope. I check, and I say, 'We only have enough to make it back to base.' So, they decide they'll go down and around, because there's no way they can build a bridge in time. The cliffs on either side of the chasm are steep, and the guys are taking their time with lowering everyone down. Wierzbowski was ordered to go down first, because he's the heaviest and can hold the rope taut for everyone as they come down. He goes down, and he's looking up at everyone as he goes, and Henley yells at him to look down so he can see where he's going. You know how 'Ski is; he doesn't like arguing with people, so he does what he's told. Henley tells him to go a little faster. 'Ski tries, and Ferro looks at me, whispering, 'How deep is this chasm?'

"'I dunno,' I says. So, I check the landscape and shit, and I'm like, 'That's a deep fucking chasm.' I'm talking well over three hundred feet deep, and 'Ski's not even halfway down. I relay that to the others, and I add, 'Don't go too fast, 'Ski.' Henley flipped his shit a little. He starts going off 'bout how there're injured people on the other side and if we don't hurry up, it could get worse, and he leans over the cliffside snarling, 'Hurry up, Private!'

"'Ski looked up at him, and says, 'I really can't.'

"'Why not?!'

"'I don't want to risk hurting myself.'

"'If you're smart, you'll prevent that from happening.'

"I heard Hudson mumble, 'He's being smart by taking his time, man,' and Henley tells him to stay out of it. Apone says, 'Be patient, Corporal,' and tells 'Ski to just go at whatever pace is comfortable for him. That's the end of that part, but it kinda left a bad taste in 'Ski's mouth about Henley. Once everyone is down in the chasm, they need to find a way to get up to the other side, and there's two options: climb up, or go around. Everyone else elected to go around, but Henley says, 'That'll take too long. Get out the climbing gear and start scaling the cliff face.'

"'We're taking too much time by arguing about this,' 'Ski replies. 'You're making this way harder than it needs to be.' I could see the look on his face through Hudson's camera. He gave Henley a nervous expression, swallows, and then says, 'Sir.'

"'No, you're taking too much time by being a wuss. I didn't put you in this unit to make decisions.' He kinda goes off on 'Ski for being lazy and stuff. I mean, we all know 'Ski's not lazy, but I think it hurt him a little bit to be accused of it. Henley did apologize after the mission, but I don't think it was mutual."

"I noticed he has a bad habit of saying shit and then apologizing. It's like he doesn't learn," I said.

Spunkmeyer shrugged. "He is competent, but, yeah, you're right. He's easily angered and doesn't like seeing any kind of weakness among his guys."

"Good thing he's not in this unit anymore. God only knows what he would've done to me."

"I think you woulda worn him down. Eventually, he'd see there was something really wrong with you, and he'd get you help. Anyways, 'Ski generally doesn't let stuff bother him-"

"Yeah, he tries to drink it away. Jesus, Spunkmeyer, you could've driven him back to-"

"Oh, will you relax? Just go talk to him."

"I kinda need someone to help me, and you can't."

As if we had been granted some kind of miracle, we heard someone walking down the hall. Turns out, it was Hudson, looking ashamed of himself.

"Hey, Hudson," I called. "Can you help me?"

"With what, man?" Hudson muttered.

"I need to go see Wierzbowski."

"I thought he was with you, man."

"Well, he's . . . not happy right now, and I want to talk to him. Could you walk me to his room?"

Hudson sighed as he helped me stand. Once we were out in the hall, he said, "I'm getting a leave pass tomorrow. Sleep over at Miranda's. Don't wanna deal with Hicks's bullshit right now."

"Are you two still fighting?"

"We're not fighting, but he's just in a foul mood-more foul than you-over what I said. He actually asked if I was gonna terminate my contract, man."

"Well, like you said, he's still grouchy, so just let it go. Go ahead, go see Miranda. Hopefully, she's not to busy to allow you to stay over."

"I know I said I'd visit her during her spring break, but . . . is it wrong that I want to talk to her, man?"

"No, not at all. I think she'll understand." I knocked on Wierzbowski's door. "Hey, everything OK, in there?" I called.

"I really don't want to talk to anyone right now, Drake. I'm sorry," Wierzbowski moaned.

I took a breath. "You're not drunk, are you?"

"No!"

"That was kinda mean, man," Hudson whispered.

It was, and I felt bad. "Sorry. I'll . . . We can talk tomorrow."

* * *

Just before lights-out, I got Hudson to tell Vasquez that I wanted to see her. Of course, I'm still sore, but I didn't care.

Vasquez closed the door behind her, and covered my mouth as she crawled into bed with me. "Don't say a word, because you'll probably say something stupid that'll ruin everything."

I smirked, kissing her hand. "What makes you think I want to ruin this? I've never been happier in all my life to see you."

"I know you. You don't do it on purpose, but something stupid flies out of your mouth regardless." Vasquez pressed herself against me, hugging me.

"Not too tight. I hurt," I whispered.

As a joke, she squeezed me, sending a dull ache up and down my body.

"Ow. Seriously, baby, don't do that."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"I don't know." I gave a contented sigh. "I am so glad we get to do this again. I missed you."

"I missed you, too, dumbass." Vasquez grinned, taking my head to kiss my cheek.

I was quiet for a moment, then tried to move onto my side to face Vasquez. "What do you think? Should we just snuggle, or should we give talking a shot?"

"Is there something you need to talk about?"

"I dunno, to be honest. I'm just tired. I feel like I'm gonna sleep in tomorrow morning."

"So, you're not up for more-than-cuddles tonight?"

"I wish I were, but I'm so sore right now that I'm not even interested. I'm sorry."

"Fine. I will stay, and I will lay here with you."

"Thanks. Is there anything . . . you'd like to talk about?"

"Other than the fact that I'm glad I'm not sharing a room with Dietrich anymore? Not really."

"She's that bad, huh."

"Not bad, but not a good roommate. I can't imagine how Hudson was for you."

"Actually, Hudson wasn't bad at all. I mean, sure, he could be kinda gross, and his snoring is why I hurt my arm a couple months ago, but it was a good chance to bond."

"I could hear him snoring all the way in my room. How did you and Hicks and Spunkmeyer manage?"

"We just did. Hell, Hicks was really congested when we first arrived in Spain, so those sounds were just as bad as Hudson's snoring."

Vasquez peered under the covers at the rest of my body. "Delhoun wasn't kidding when he said you were in the Bahamas. You've got a nice light color, and you're so warm." She put her head on my chest.

"I actually laid out for a few hours while I was there," I said. "It was kind of embarrassing when I took my shirt off. All you saw was just . . . paper-white."

"Aww, poor Drake looked like a snowman." Vasquez wrapped her arms around me, keeping her head on my chest.

"At least I look better now. It's probably gonna fade in a few days, but whatever. You got to see me tanned. That should make you happy."

"I wouldn't say 'happy'-"

"Oh, come on. You've never seen me with any kind of color. Not since the day we first met."

"OK, you have a point." Vasquez smiled, gently running her finger all around my torso. She was listening to my heartbeat, and being lulled off by it.

I know we didn't do much of anything, but it was worth just being together after months of not doing so. We didn't argue or get upset. It's always nice to see her smile. When she fell asleep, I pulled her closer, and held her protectively as I drifted off as well.

I had to get up at some point to use the bathroom. I did feel a little less sore, but it was still really painful just getting up and walking. I had to steady myself on the wall. While standing in front of the toilet, I heard someone sobbing in the next room, which happens to be Wierzbowski's. I finished my piss, flushed, and washed my hands before putting on a robe to go see what was wrong.

"What're you doing, sweetie?" Vasquez whispered from my bed.

"Wierzbowski's crying about something," I whispered back. Giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, I added, "Go back to sleep."

"Do you need help?"

"I'll be fine if I got something to hang onto." I kissed her again. "Love you, baby."

Out in the hall, I knocked on Wierzbowski's door. When I didn't get a response, I walked inside. He wasn't in bed, and I saw the bathroom door was closed. _Oh, no . . ._ I grabbed the knob of the door, wincing as another dull ache shot up my arm, and opened it to reveal Wierzbowski sitting between the toilet and the shower, hugging his knees and sobbing. I breathed a sigh of relief when I didn't smell any alcohol. "Hey, what's the matter?" I asked.

"Drake, I said I didn't want to talk," Wierzbowski said, not looking up.

"Obviously, something's bothering you, bud. Just talk to me now."

He sighed. "Alright. I . . . I should've handled Spunkmeyer a little better, earlier this evening. H-He means absolutely no harm, and yet . . . I . . ."

"It was something in your past you don't wanna think about. Believe me, I get it."

"It was embarrassing. I-I'm guessing he told you what happened."

"Sure did."

"Well, he probably didn't tell you how new I was to the unit, now, did he?"

I shook my head.

Wierzbowski rubbed his face, dark-blue eyes glistening with fresh tears. "That mission in the Caribbean was a good six weeks after I'd joined the unit, and about five-six months after I quit drinking the first time. All I cared about was making a good impression on the rest of my comrades. Corporal Henley was certainly a bit of a control freak, but, nine times out of ten, he was right. This wasn't one of those times. I don't challenge orders, ever. Not unless someone on my side could get senselessly hurt. It . . . It's something I carried over from civilian life. Something that got me in a lot of problems with my marriage. That, and just . . . being accused of laziness and a wimp made me afraid that's how everyone else was going to see me. The fear was enough to make me crave drinking again. I didn't. I spent my nights trying to fight it, telling myself it wasn't the answer, that I could get in serious trouble if I get caught."

"Can't imagine that was easy to do."

"It wasn't." Wierzbowski left it at that. "It's been a month since I quit a second time. Your doctor's been a big help, but . . . all night, I've been . . . I-I-"

"You want a drink."

He nodded.

I sat in front of the door, facing him. "I'll sit with you until you feel like going to sleep."

"I can't do that to you, Drake."

"You need this. I don't want you to suffer through this alone."

Wierzbowski sighed. "Alright."

I stayed and talked to Wierzbowski for quite a while. We talked about anything that came to our minds. Eventually, the topics got a little weird, because we were both exhausted.

"Have you ever noticed how whenever Hudson was in the shower, he'd lose one thing or another?" I said.

"Yeah. Usually something important," Wierzbowski replied, smirking.

"And then he'd go out into the locker room with no towel around his waist, searching for whatever the hell it was he lost." I shrugged. "He just didn't care."

"Not at all."

I laughed. "I'm just glad we don't have to look at everyone naked again for another few months."

"That's true."

"Some of the guys made me feel bad about myself, to be honest. Frost works out more than any of us. He and Crowe put way too much effort into their exercises. And you're just naturally strong."

"I do the bare minimum of what we're required in the gym. Just don't tell anyone."

"Well, so do I. Much of my fitness comes from carrying that damn smartgun."

Wierzbowski shook his head, smiling. He then looked at me. "I think I'm ready to try and sleep. Thanks for staying with me, Drake." He held out his hand to help me stand. I grimaced in pain as I got up. Sitting in one position for several hours certainly didn't help.

"I'm just sore. Not getting old," I said, trying to smile despite hurting.

"Say that again in a few years."

When I returned to my room, I noticed the clock read three-thirty. How long had I been up? Not sure, don't care. I still have about three hours to sleep. I took off my robe before getting back in bed, draping my arm over Vasquez. She was fast asleep, or so I thought; as soon as I got comfortable, she turned to nuzzle my face.

"Is everything OK with Wierzbowski? You were gone a while," Vasquez asked.

"He just needed someone to talk to. Couldn't sleep," I whispered. "Everything's OK now. He's sleeping."

The next few hours of sleep went by way too fast. We heard Hicks banging on everyone's doors, and Vasquez was quick to escape before anyone saw her.

As we tiredly emerged from our bedrooms, Hicks immediately went back down the hall, telling us all to put on sweaters because it was going to be chilly today. Hudson groaned in annoyance, and Hicks shouted, "I don't want to hear any bitching outta you."

"Hicks, just leave him alone."

Hicks and I turned to look at Wierzbowski, who flushed red with embarrassment.

"I-I'm sorry. I-"

"No. Don't worry about it," Hicks replied, calmly. "Get your sweater on, and come down to mess for breakfast."

I was still adjusting my turtleneck when Hicks approached me. He glanced over his shoulder, waiting for the others to file on down the hallway.

"Drake, I need a favor from you."

"Sure. What is it?" I said.

"I called Paige last night. We're gonna meet for coffee after breakfast, and . . . I want you to come with me. If something goes wrong, I don't want to be alone."

"Why me? Why not Hudson?"

"Because, in case you haven't noticed, Hudson's pissing me off right now."

"I don't think so. I think you're anxious about meeting up with your girl and you're taking it out on everyone. Hudson just happened to be in the path of your tornado."

Hicks was silent, then he nodded. "I'm glad you can pick up things like that, Drake. Thank you. I . . . I'll apologize to Hudson, later."

"He's not gonna be here later. He's getting a pass so he can stay with his girlfriend for a couple days, because he's upset with you."

Hicks sighed. "Well, he can have it. Maybe it's a good idea we cool off before speaking to each other again. Look, when we go to the café, with Paige, I need you to sit somewhere close by, but not with us. I don't want her to think that I'm . . . what's the right word?"

"We're trying to intimidate her into getting back with you?"

"Yeah. That."

I smiled. "Don't worry about it."

* * *

_Question: What could have happened if Drake didn't choose to talk to Wierzbowski so late at night?_

_Author's Note: Die-hard Bill Paxton fans will understand the reference inside the line "Hudson just happened to be in the path of your tornado."_


	5. Chapter 5

At this point, we all know that when it's quiet around the table, it's because someone's upset. Today, it was Hudson. He already had his overcoat and scarf on and was ready to bolt down to the Metro with his three-day leave pass. I glanced at everyone else, the silence starting to bother me a little.

Hudson didn't even bother finishing his breakfast. "I'm getting outta here, man," he said, standing up and dumping his tray. "See ya."

No one made an attempt to stop him. Hicks hung his head, sighing. He was quiet until Hudson left the room, and then said, "It's fine. We're taking this time to just cool off. Not worry about anything right now."

I looked at Hicks. "Relax. You'll talk when he gets back. Not a big deal."

"I know." Hicks rubbed his face. "I really hope everyone understands that I'm sorry for my behavior the last couple days."

"You're forgiven," Wierzbowski said. Not sure why he said anything; Hicks wasn't rude to him at all.

"Thanks."

Hicks and I left base a half-hour after breakfast. He didn't say much of anything as we boarded the Metro and headed off to wherever Carlisle agreed to meet him. I noticed Hicks getting more anxious by the minute; he looked down at his scarf, gently playing with the ends of it, stroking it with his thumb.

"Just be honest with her," I said. "You're not gonna get anywhere if you're not completely honest with her, or yourself."

Hicks looked at me, still toying with his scarf. "How do I tell her I'm kind of angry?"

"Tell her, but don't actually get angry."

"I don't want her to feel sorry for me, or feel obliged to get back together with me."

"Hicks, she deliberately ignored you for four years. She should feel sorry for you. You don't deserve to be treated like this."

"Fine. Just do me one favor, Drake; if things don't go right, _do not _fly off the handle with Paige. That's all I ask of you."

"Deal."

As per Hicks's directions, I sat somewhere away from him and Carlisle at the café they agreed to meet at. She hadn't arrived yet, and I watched poor Hicks sit at a small table and play with his scarf. He paused once, in order to light a cigarette.

Nothing I can do about his nerves now. The smells of a real breakfast were perking me up, and I began placing an order for some actual eggs and bacon. When I received my coffee, I noticed a woman with short blonde hair approaching Hicks's table. Hicks stood up, gave her a brief hug, and offered her a chair.

I sipped my coffee, hoping I didn't look like I was staring at them.

"Good morning. I . . . I hope everything's going alright with you," Hicks said.

"Everything's been going great so far," Carlisle replied. "How did you sleep last night?"

"Fine. You?"

"Same."

There was a lot of small talk between them at first, which was unusual, because Hicks doesn't like small talk. He even told me that he told Carlisle herself that he doesn't like small talk. I got my plate of food, and salivated at the sight of the massive, glistening egg yolks. We _never_ get fried eggs on base.

Despite my stomach muttering a plea to start eating, I had to keep my attention on Hicks and Carlisle.

". . . Funnily enough, I'm extremely grateful to Hudson for saying something to you, but I had a bit of a fight with him yesterday," Hicks was saying.

"Why? What happened?" Carlisle asked.

"Stupid stuff. I regret getting mad at him. I should be taking all my soldiers' thoughts into consideration. I know the difference between a petty complaint and a genuine request for better things. He was complaining about the food on base-"

"Every private does that. It can get annoying sometimes. It's OK."

"Well, I've known Hudson since I arrived in my current unit. He was the first one to offer a hand of friendship to me. I should be nicer to him."

"At least it sounds like things in this unit are better than your last one."

"They are. I'm so much happier under Apone."

The conversation ended again. I started cramming part of an English muffin into my mouth, and I noticed Hicks looking at me. Not sure what to do, I gave him a thumbs-up while butter ran down my chin. I could almost hear him say, "You're just as bad as Hudson sometimes." Hicks didn't look annoyed, though; instead, he smiled, and gave me a thumbs-up back.

I'm not going to document everything I heard between Hicks and Carlisle. I don't remember most of it, plus I'm not wasting my journal on all of their small talk. It took them awhile to get to the real purpose of this meeting, which was their relationship.

I realized that sitting and doing nothing would look suspicious. I glanced up at a clock, and silently cursed when I saw it was only ten-thirty in the morning, which means no alcohol is being served. There were no lottery numbers being shown, and I was tired of listening to the peppy weatherman telling us how cold it was going to be today, so, all I really could do was sit there and digest. I knew that if I got another cup of coffee, I was gonna need to use a restroom soon, and I felt like if I got up, Hicks and Carlisle would start talking about the "important stuff."

"Dwayne, how serious are you about . . . getting back together?" Carlisle asked.

"Depends on how you feel about it," Hicks replied.

"Tell me how you feel right now about it."

Hicks fell silent. I noticed him grabbing his scarf under the table, as he took a draw on his cigarette. "Well, I want us to get back together. A lot has changed since we first met that . . . that day, and I wish you had been with me the whole way. I'm not so closed off anymore. I feel better. I know how to express my emotions to people without crying or exploding."

_I wouldn't say that's completely true, bud,_ I thought.

"I just feel like I can focus on a relationship now. I can make you happy, a-and it just . . . it made me angry when I realized I wasn't gonna hear from you again. I wasn't angry at you, though. I was angry at myself, because I was certain I had done something wrong. I haven't forgot about you, and . . . I want us to try again."

Now Carlisle was silent. "OK. We can give this another go."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Hicks smiled, and let go of his scarf to offer his hand to her. It was nice to see him happy. Honestly, I hoped this would be a key in him truly healing, emotionally.

Now that Hicks was happy and moving on to the little lovey-dovey part of the conversation, I could finally get up to pee, because the coffee I had was hitting me. I had been sitting in one position for too long, so my right leg had fallen asleep. I realized I looked stupid, but I didn't know what to do when I couldn't move my leg. When I thought I had myself upright and ready to limp off, I stepped wrong, and fell.

Every patron in that café was looking at me, and I heard someone ask, "Is he OK? Do we need to call an ambulance?"

I was starting to regain feeling in my leg. As I forced myself up, I said, "No ambulance. My leg fell asleep, that's all." _Now mind your own business._

"You sure you're OK, Drake?" Hicks asked.

"Shut up and kiss your girlfriend."

* * *

I was glad that Hicks and Carlisle are less obnoxious in their displays of affection compared to Hudson and Miranda. They walked hand-in-hand. Carlisle's head was rested against Hicks's shoulder, and he would occasionally turn to nuzzle her forehead.

I just hated being the third wheel. Nobody likes being the third wheel. At the same time, it got me thinking about what I said to Wierzbowski a month ago. _He really should find somebody better than his ex-wife, _I thought. _It's gotta hurt him seeing most of the unit having relationships and being happy with their partners._

Hey, I made a good call saying Miranda and Hudson would make a great couple. So far, they're happy. They had a massive hiccup, but they got over it. Maybe I can play matchmaker again and be just as successful.

Hudson had no problem getting to know Miranda and getting the ball rolling with her. Wierzbowski will be a completely different story. The big guy's pretty damn shy, and not good at talking to people he doesn't know. Not to mention, he's prone to letting people take advantage of him, because he tends not to ask a lot of questions out of fear of pissing someone off. He can be too gentle for his own good. As much as I think he's learned his lesson, I'm concerned that he'll get so nervous that he'll either mess it all up, or put himself in a really bad situation. Plus, his little drinking problem comes first; the last thing I want is for him to screw up with a girl and be driven back to the bottle.

I sighed as I thought, knowing I should keep this to myself and not get Wierzbowski's hopes up. As I walked behind Hicks and Carlisle, I put my hands in my pockets, and touched a couple of hard, grainy things. Baffled for a moment, I pulled one of them out, and my heart sank when I realized they were the shells that Casey had given me back in the Bahamas. I actually wished I could talk more with the kid. Part of me wondered if he looked for me whenever his family next went to that beach, and it really broke my heart picturing him disappointed over not finding me. He does strike me as the type who'll keep his disappointments to himself, but show it non-verbally.

I know he said his family was going to be in the Bahamas for a week, but how long had they been there when he told me that? They could've gone home at any point after I left, and I had no way of getting into contact with Casey.

That's probably the end of that road, that friendship. I have to accept it and move on.

"You OK back there, Drake?" Hicks asked, looking over his shoulder at me.

I emerged from my thoughts, and became aware of an envious pang in my chest over seeing Hicks with his arm around Carlisle's shoulders. There's no harm in wishing I had Vasquez with me, was there? "Yeah, I'm alright. Why?"

"You look a little lost. Why don't you come on up and walk alongside us?"

I frowned. "Aren't you two-"

"It's not like we're gonna be pushing people away just because we're in love. You're still a friend."

Shrugging, I jogged up to join them at the end of the street. I didn't say anything, and I found myself falling back behind them as they continued to be all cute and stuff.

It's not like I can blame them, to be honest.

* * *

I think it was safe to assume that Hicks and Carlisle weren't going to suddenly have a fight, but as much as I wanted to leave them, I felt like it wouldn't be fair to Hicks. Something could happen, and I didn't want him to be all by himself.

We walked around a relatively small area of the city until about one-thirty in the afternoon, when Carlisle told Hicks she needed to get back to base. They parted ways at a Metro stop, kissing until Carlisle's train arrived. Once she was gone, I approached Hicks, my hands in my pockets.

Hicks looked a little giddy. "This day couldn't have been better. I love her."

"Yeah, yeah," I said. "Come on, let's get you a beer."

I really didn't want to spoil Hicks's happiness. This was honestly the happiest I've seen him in the two years I've been serving with him, and it's probably the happiest he's been since his friend, Paulson, committed suicide. This was a good thing.

Of course, Hicks didn't go and get himself a bit smashed like I did.

"OK, Drake, you've had enough." Hicks had to help me out of the bar once I started talking about stuff that the two of us would generally keep private. You know, things like Hicks's past.

"Didn't ya tell me you once got drunk 'cause you were mad at your girlfriend 'cause she wanted you to get angry and shit kinda got complicated?" I slurred as we headed back to the Metro platform.

"Drake, shut up."

"OK." I hiccupped. "Y'know, I half-expected Carlisle to start cryin' when she saw you, based on whatcha told me 'bout her."

"That's not shutting up."

"Listen, I got one more thing to say, pal, I had no idea Anubis put some more bones 'round my neck."

I think I did shut up when we got on the train back to base, probably because I passed out. To be real, though, I don't remember. I just know I don't remember the ride back.

Hicks dragged me inside the base, sighing when he realized he'd have to tell Apone. Thankfully, Apone trusts Hicks, so it wasn't that big of a deal.

"Hey, Sarge!" I chirped.

"Hey, Drake," Apone replied, not looking up from a stack of files.

"You, go to bed," Hicks said, trying to push me off him.

"No, n-no, no, hey, look, I can't go to bed yet," I slurred.

"Why not?"

"I need to go throw up on the bed first."

Apone glanced up at us. "Hicks, are you gonna be OK dealing with him?"

"I'll be fine. We've had worse with Hudson."

"Yeah," I laughed, "His pants are usually gone by now. It's hilarious."

"We know. We know." Hicks began hauling me off to my bedroom.

As we headed down the hall, we ran into Wierzbowski, which, as you might be thinking, was a big mistake. "Is he alright?" Wierzbowski asked.

"I'm completely hammered right now!" I said.

"It's my fault," Hicks sighed. "We went out for a couple of drinks, and I . . . didn't stop him after he had a couple too many."

"You shoulda been with us, 'Ski."

Wierzbowski was giving me a disgusted look. "No, I shouldn't have been with you."

"Alright! Bedtime for Drake." Hicks brought me into my room, and opened the bathroom door, letting me crawl to the toilet in order to throw up. He stood in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest. "You know, this isn't as bad as when Hudson got drunk at the Christmas party, but I'm still just as ashamed. You know Wierzbowski's got some issues regarding-"

"Hicks, don't waste your breath. Talk to him in the morning!" Apone yelled.

"Yes, sir!" Once I finished puking, Hicks helped me clean up, and dropped me in bed. "Holler if you need anything."

I waited until Hicks was out in the hall, and then I shouted, "_Hicks, help!_"

He ran back. "What? What's wrong?"

I was laughing so hard, my sides hurt-well, everything hurts right now. "Just wanted to see if you'd come runnin'."

Hicks glared at me, eyes narrowed to gray-green slits. "Go to sleep, Drake."

"OK!"

* * *

It's safe to assume that I would wake up not feeling so good. I had an icepack with me for my head during breakfast, and every so often, I'd groan in pain. The hangover mixed with the soreness from the silver flower antidote was an awful combination.

"Poor Drake," Spunkmeyer said.

"Don't feel sorry for him," Wierzbowski grumbled.

"Why not?"

"Just don't."

Spunkmeyer shrugged, and went back to his breakfast.

Hicks looked at Wierzbowski. "Drake's done a lot for you. Don't be pushing him away because he made a mistake."

"Yeah, this is a fucking mistake alright. He chose to drink more than he-"

"_Enough._ I was there. It was my fault because I didn't tell him to stop. If you're gonna be mad at anyone, be mad at me."

"Hicks, I can't be mad at you. I really can't."

"Well, don't get mad at Drake. Obviously, you couldn't trust me with your problems, so-"

"Pity party's over, Hicks," Apone said. "Eat your breakfast."

"Yes, sir." Hicks looked down at his food, picking at it while sighing.

I knew that if Hudson was here, he'd be defending me and getting in everyone's face about it. I'm glad that he was off in his own little world, and I hoped he was happy.

It took me awhile to get why Wierzbowski was mad. I kinda set a really bad example by showing up drunk, while he's trying to keep himself from wanting to drink. It makes it look as though I'm not the best person to go to for help, and when I grasped that, I felt bad.

I had the feeling that he was really lonely throughout the day without me, and that made me feel worse. I even said that to Vasquez when we were sitting on the roof of the base, staring out at the Atlantic Ocean.

"I let him down," I said. "How could I be so stupid?"

"I think Hicks is right; you made a mistake, plus he didn't stop you after you had a little too much. It happens," Vasquez replied.

"I know how to moderate myself, though."

"Sometimes, you forget. Besides, you were telling me that you were tired of seeing Hicks and his girlfriend being cutesy with each other, so maybe you subconsciously wanted to forget." Vasquez moved closer to me, laying her head on my chest. I was leaning against one of the generators with my boots dangling over the edge of the roof.

"Wierzbowski's not going to forgive me," I sighed.

"Yes, he will. He trusts you, and he would never throw away something as valuable as a close friend. Just give him a few hours, and then talk to him in private." Vasquez hugged me, nuzzling my chest.

I kissed the top of her head, and paused to sniff her hair. "New shampoo?"

"Yeah. You like it?"

"Smells like someone cracked open a mango on your skull."

Vasquez buried her nose in my shirt. "You're still using the same body wash."

"I haven't had the time to go out and get the good sexy stuff."

She smirked, and hugged me tighter.

We heard one of the trapdoors open up, and we quickly pulled apart, acting like we were just sitting and talking without the cuddling. Hicks peered over the generator. "Hey, Drake. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No. We were just talking," I said. "Why do you ask?"

"Wierzbowski wants to talk to you."

"Is he OK?"

"Yeah. He just wants to talk to you alone. He's in the lounge."

I followed Hicks back inside the base, where he directed me to the lounge (which, like everything else here, was significantly nicer than the one in Spain), and left me alone. Frankly, I was afraid Wierzbowski was going to yell at me and do everything in his power to make me feel bad, but at the same time, I didn't think he was capable of doing that. Not to say he's weak, but it's just not in his nature to hurt someone emotionally.

I saw him taking a water bottle out of a vending machine, and put on a brave face. "You wanted to talk to me?" I said.

"Yeah. I'm . . . sorry about what I said this morning, to Spunkmeyer, about not feeling sorry for you."

I wasn't expecting that. "Hey, you have every right to be mad at me. I should've been more careful last night."

"Still. It wasn't right for me to-"

"Stop. Just stop." I held up my hands. "You _cannot_ just shy away and act like you were the one in the wrong all the time. It's not good for you. Trust me."

Wierzbowski opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped, looking down at the floor before regaining eye contact with me.

I took a breath. "I'm gonna be upfront and honest with you. This kind of behavior is why people will take advantage of you. You can be a nice guy without being a doormat. It's OK to get mad at me. Just because I'm your friend doesn't mean you should excuse everything I do. I did something wrong, and I should be held accountable."

"How do I do that without-"

"Be honest with your emotions. It's that simple. Bottling it up is just gonna make things a whole lot worse for you down the road. If you want to try dating again, then you can't have this aura of passiveness. It screams to people that you're easy to manipulate."

I noticed a defeated look in Wierzbowski's eyes, but I didn't interpret this as him retreating back into his shell. He knew damn well I was right.

* * *

_Question: Is reconnecting with someone from his past really the best way for Hicks to further heal? How could it have a negative impact on him?_

_Author's Note: There was definitely more humor in this chapter than what I was expecting, despite its severe lack of Hudson. "Shut up and kiss your girlfriend" and "I need to go throw up on the bed first" are my personal favorites.  
_

_If this was third-person, there'd be more of a focus on Hicks and Carlisle's dialogue in the café, but Drake gets an "I tried" ribbon for his efforts._


	6. Chapter 6

I noticed Hicks seemed a lot happier after reconnecting with Carlisle. He snapped less, he laughed more, he was even starting to look healthier. He really tried to engage more of us every day, and he spent a lot less time with himself.

I just hoped he wasn't on the path to a major breakdown. It's difficult telling the difference between genuine happiness and a masked future eruption.

Hudson returned in an equally good mood. He took me and Wierzbowski to the courtyard so he could tell us all the juicy details of his stay with Miranda. "Check it out, man-" Hudson rolled his up his left sleeve, "Got me a new tattoo."

It was a key, inside his elbow. Odd placement, if you ask me. Then again, it's Hudson.

"Miranda was happy to see me, thank God, man. We got Chinese food and then ice cream. Sat on her couch and cuddled for an hour. Then, we showered together."

I frowned. "I could never shower with Vasquez. I just can't do it. Anytime I'm in the bathroom, that is my time to be as classy and not-attractive as I want to be. Plus, it's just . . . not my thing. I prefer to do it when I'm warm and dry and . . . clean."

"Well, we did it in the shower and it was great, man."

"Hudson, can you spare the details, please?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Just because you're still a virgin doesn't mean-_ow!_" Hudson glared at me when I socked him in the arm. "Geez, Drake."

"Knock it off," I growled. "We're working on getting Wierzbowski a date."

"We are?"

"I didn't agree to that," Wierzbowski muttered.

"Oh, come on, we know deep down you wanna find someone better than your witch of an ex," I said.

"Am I even ready? You yourself said I'm . . . I still have a lot to learn in terms of . . . not being a pushover."

"What better way to learn than to actively go out and meet people, man?" Hudson bit into a soft pretzel he got from a vending machine.

"You really want me to embarrass myself in front of complete strangers?"

"You won't embarrass yourself if we're with you," I said.

"I don't know, Drake . . ."

"Hold up-" Hudson took a gulp of potently sour cranberry-pomegranate juice. "Miranda was telling me 'bout how she met up with a friend of hers at the hospital a couple days ago. I think she said her name was Eliza McAllister or something like that. Anyway, she knew Miranda because they went to the same college, but Eliza dropped out early for reasons Miranda didn't tell me. They still keep in contact, though."

"And how is this relevant?" I asked.

"Miranda mentioned her friend is single."

I grinned. "Are you suggesting we . . . introduce this woman and Wierzbowski?"

"I guess so, yeah."

We both looked at Wierzbowski, who was starting to sweat nervously.

"Listen, I love the both of you, but you're insane. I couldn't . . . this woman won't like me."

"How do you know? You haven't even met her, man." Hudson shrugged, and finished off his drink.

* * *

"Call Miranda after I talk to Vasquez, OK?" I whispered to Hudson shortly after dinner. "We can make this like a double date."

"You sure about that, man? You don't think Wierzbowski will be uncomfortable?" Hudson replied.

"Maybe it'll light a fire under his ass and get him to actually talk to people."

"Look, I wanna do this as much as you do, but I think we should let Wierzbowski go at his own pace, man."

"And his pace is tectonically slow."

"Drake, stop and think for a moment, man. Wierzbowski's not gonna change overnight. You of all people should know that." Hudson gave me a sad look. "Is there . . . something you wanna talk about that's bothering you?"

I sighed. "I dunno. We both kinda got upset with each other while you were gone. I got drunk, Wierzbowski came really close to getting mad at me because of all the stuff he's dealt with. He then decided not to get mad, and I told him he had every right to be mad. I guess I'm frustrated with him, that's all, and I think he's deep-down mad at me, but he's refusing to show it."

"I don't think he's really mad at you, man, but he doesn't like that you're trying to shove him outta his comfort zone when he ain't ready. Like I said, you understand that completely, so it doesn't make sense that you're the one doing this to him."

"So, what are you suggesting we do?"

"Go talk to Wierzbowski about this before you throw him in a situation where he's uncomfortable."

I nodded, and gave Hudson a pat on the shoulder before going to find Wierzbowski. He was sitting in front of his locker in the armory, looking tired and upset. He glanced up at me when I came in and sat next to him. Sighing, I said, "I'm sorry about . . . what we said in the courtyard. Nothing is set in stone right now, so, you don't have to worry about going anywhere and meeting anyone."

"I think we should just do it, Drake," Wierzbowski replied.

"Why? You said you were-"

"I know, but . . . I know that if you let me go, I'm not changing for the better. I know what I did wrong the first time with dating, and I know not to make any of those same mistakes again."

"That's easier said than done."

"I know. That's why I want your help."

"So, you're giving us the OK to call Miranda and ask her to talk to her friend about meeting us so you and her can get to know each other."

"I'm giving you the OK."

"Are you sure? You can't back out once we make all those phone calls."

"I'm sure."

I took a breath. "Alright. Remember, you approved, bud."

It didn't take me long to realize that getting Wierzbowski to agree was much, much easier than getting Vasquez on board. There's no denying she wants to help him as well, but she also doesn't like Miranda, even though Miranda is now very cozy with Hudson and supposedly has no more romantic interest in me. Not to mention, neither of us know who Eliza is, and Vasquez isn't comfortable admitting she's in a relationship with me in front of strangers, which I can understand.

Vasquez gave me the dirtiest look after I explained the plan. "Alright, I'll go with you, but you have to do something for me."

"Name it," I said. "I'll do whatever you want."

She gave me a mischievous smile. "You have to get a tattoo in a spot only I'm going to know about."

"Somewhere indecent?"

"Kinda." Vasquez pointed to my waist. "Right above your right leg, but can be easily covered by your skivvies."

"Really?"

"Really. And I'm picking the tattoo."

"Fine. I trust you."

"In this case, you shouldn't."

* * *

To make a long story short, a date was scheduled for Friday night. On Wednesday, Hudson and I dragged Wierzbowski into the city so we could get some stuff necessary for this date-and give Wierzbowski advice.

"Cologne is important," I said. "Make sure you pick out something tasteful and not overly strong. Anything with pheromones is good."

"Aftershave, too, man," Hudson added.

"Ditto."

Wierzbowski wasn't impressed. "How do I look like I'm not trying too hard?"

"Look like you care-"

"But don't look like a supermodel, man." Hudson picked up two cologne bottles, and handed them to Wierzbowski. "Give these a sniff, man."

I gagged when Wierzbowski gave one of them a short spray. "Smells like Annexer piss. Put it back."

"This one smells like bacon, man."

"No. We don't need you trying to eat his shirt."

Girls are much more on-point when it comes to their perfume and "what goes best with your personality" and shit. Guys just fool around and find stuff that smells worse than our own B.O. (it is pretty difficult to top that, not gonna lie). It took us about an hour to get stuff for ourselves, and Wierzbowski, who looked really unsure of himself even after we made our purchases.

With outfits, we were faced with a challenge due to Wierzbowski's height. There wasn't a large selection of clothing for guys who are really tall, and Hudson and I are too lazy to search the whole metropolitan area for a store with a bigger selection. We had to make do with what we had.

Truth be told, though, Wierzbowski doesn't need anything fancy, and he wasn't really voicing his opinion on any of the stuff we picked out for him. I pointed out that he agreed to this, and he said that he was no expert on how to impress someone on the first date, so, he really didn't care. I can only hope he doesn't carry that attitude into Friday.

* * *

Vasquez told me that we'd be going to the tattoo parlor right after we left the bowling alley so I could pay her back for making her go out with us. I pointed out that we were going to risk breaking curfew, but she didn't want to hear it.

Miranda and her friend met up with us a few blocks away from D.C.'s Chinatown. I saw that Eliza McAllister is short, very thin, and her dark reddish-blonde hair was pulled back into a loose bun. She gave us a warm smile, and held out her hand to each of us. "Hi, I'm Eliza."

"Drake." I shook her hand. "This is my girlfriend, Vasquez."

Eliza held out her hand to Vasquez, who reluctantly took it. She then looked at Hudson, who was kissing Miranda. "I already know you, and . . ." She looked behind me at Wierzbowski, who was staring off into space. "You must be Trevor Wierzbowski."

Snapping out of his thoughts, Wierzbowski nervously stepped forward, holding out his hand. "Yes, I-I am. I . . . I-It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I'm freezing my nuts off. Can we go inside?" I said.

The plan was to have dinner, and go bowling. Hopefully, that would give Eliza and Wierzbowski time to talk and get to know each other. We sat at a table in the middle of the room, and I noticed Wierzbowski tugging on his collar a little. _Relax,_ I wanted to say.

"March is fucking miserable, ain't it?" Hudson asked, picking up his menu.

"Yeah. A couple days ago, it was nice enough to sit outside. Now, it's reverted back to winter," I said. "I got a tan when I went to the Bahamas, and it's just about gone."

"Don't even think about lifting your shirt in here," Vasquez muttered.

"Why? Am I too sexy for everyone?"

That earned me an elbow to the ribs.

There was silence until we ordered our drinks. Wierzbowski tugged at his collar again, and then looked at Eliza. "So, do you . . . do this often?"

"You mean go out? Not every day, that's for sure. I work every shift you can think of at a craft shop, so, sometimes I don't know when I'm going home."

"Ah. I used to work afternoon shifts at a supermarket."

"Ever worked a graveyard shift?"

"Fortunately, no. I have done midnight-to-two watch while I was in training, and that's just as unpleasant."

"I can imagine."

"What's worse is when the moron they put in charge of the watch list puts your name twice by accident, so you get a fucking four-hour shift instead of just two hours. I've seen that happen. They never did it to me because they didn't like writing my name down."

Frankly, I was surprised at how easily Wierzbowski was talking to Eliza. I had a feeling that wasn't going to last much longer, though.

They landed on the topic of why Wierzbowski joined the Marines, and that's when I noticed him starting to shut down. He doesn't like lying, but he's also afraid of what people are going to say when they find out the truth about him. "I needed something to do, that's all," he said. "I wasn't fully happy with where I was, so, I enlisted and now I'm . . . a lot happier. I-Isn't that the reason you dropped out of med school?"

"Partly. Honestly, I found it just . . . wasn't for me. I was miserable with it. I mean, my parents were pissed that we spent all that money only for me to quit six months in, but they eventually said that they'd rather not have me in a job that I loathe."

Wierzbowski didn't respond. I could tell he was struggling to come up with a good continuation, but he was burned out, and decided to just stare into space.

"Is that a really interesting dust particle you're staring at, there?" Eliza asked, smiling a little.

"No."

"Well, I'm over here." She laughed. "My cat does that when there's a fly in the house. It's hilarious. He sits in one place and stares at it for hours at a time. If you're bored, we can talk about something else."

"OK."

"You gotta make eye contact with me, though." Eliza's smile got bigger when Wierzbowski managed to make eye contact with her. "You've got such nice eyes-um, what would you prefer to be called? I know you usually get referred to by your last name, so, do you want me to call you by your first name since I'm a civilian, or, do you have a nickname?"

"Most of the others in my unit call me ''Ski.' It's even written on my helmet. I don't . . . really care, though."

"You should. If we end up dating, I need to find some good pet names for you."

"Right. My . . . My first wife didn't have any pet names for me, so . . . this is new."

"Aww. She didn't even call you 'honey' or something like that?"

Wierzbowski shook his head. "I don't know if anyone went into details with you about . . . what happened, but, she kinda used me for money. I didn't really have a lot, but it was enough for her to try and pay off some debts, while also accumulating new ones, so . . . there really wasn't any kind of . . . 'flame,' I guess is the right word."

"You know, I'd usually be really cautious around a guy who says he's been divorced, but it sounds like it wasn't your fault."

I could see Wierzbowski backing himself into a corner. They inching really close to the territory he didn't feel ready to talk about yet.

"I've never had such juicy ribs in my life before, man," Hudson moaned. There was probably more sauce on his face than in his mouth.

A normal person would be appalled at his lack of table manners, but Miranda simply picked up a napkin and wiped Hudson's face. "Sweetie, you're a mess," she said.

"Thanks, pumpkin." Hudson gave her a sticky kiss before going back to his food.

I took a sip of my drink, and glanced at Vasquez.

"I will never, ever wipe your mouth like a baby," Vasquez snarled.

"I wasn't asking you to." I returned my attention to Wierzbowski and Eliza.

". . . I generally don't do anything outside of what's asked of me," Wierzbowski was saying. "I don't even take leave that often."

"You're not curious about anything or even a little adventurous?" Eliza asked.

"No. I prefer to just . . . stay put and not cause trouble. That's how people like me best."

"I doubt that. That's how _you_ like you best."

"Is that wrong?"

"Oh, no, of course it's not wrong. You can be curious about stuff and not cause trouble. I love going places nobody's gone before, or taking a long drive just because. All in good fun, doesn't intimidate anyone. A little harmless mischief here and there is OK. You don't goof around with some of your friends here?"

"Depends on your definition of 'goof,'" I said.

"He's right," Wierzbowski said. "Hudson is the goof of our group."

"Yeah, but he's already taken. I want to know what _you_ do to have fun," Eliza replied.

"Most of the time, I'll sit and talk with Drake."

"Is he a good storyteller?"

I looked at the both of them with my whiskey glass to my lips.

Wierzbowski thought hard while staring at me. "I'd say . . . he's . . . he's good at keeping your attention. Yes, he's a good storyteller. If we're not talking, we're playing cards or something like that."

"Poker, I'm guessing?" Eliza asked.

"Not good at poker," I mumbled.

"We've tried, with some of the other guys. We don't have real chips, so we've used Oreos or some other edible item that kinda resembles poker chips." Wierzbowski glanced at Hudson. "Doesn't usually go well. He eats his before we have a chance to say 'those are for playing.'"

"If you expect me to resist Oreos, man, you're insane," Hudson said.

"None of us expect you to resist anything that resembles food or beer," I sighed.

Instead of being annoyed that we were overhearing their conversation, Eliza smiled. "Nice to see you're all able to have fun with each other."

Wierzbowski's smirk was weak. He wasn't wholly convinced about the fun thing, and I don't blame him; he usually sits in the background when everyone else is doing something remotely considered fun.

The conversations ended when the rest of us got our dinners. There was a point where I glanced up and looked past Hudson's shoulders. My mouth was full of baked fish, but I nervously shook Vasquez's shoulder, and pointed.

"What are you-Oh, my God." Vasquez saw it, too. We were both staring at Hicks and Carlisle, seated way across the room at a little nook right next to the piano.

"What? I got something in my teeth, man?" Hudson asked.

"No!" I hissed. "Look behind you!"

Hudson looked. "What the hell're _they_ doing here?"

"Who knows? We need to eat fast and get outta here before they see us!"

"I don't think they saw us, man. And I don't think they care. Look at 'em."

Hudson had a point; Hicks and Carlisle did look deeply focused on each other. Sighing, I said, "Fine. I'll relax."

* * *

The rest of us were done, but Hudson wanted dessert. "We'll let you get ice cream at the bowling alley. We're running out of time, buddy," I said.

"It's not that long of a walk," Miranda added, taking Hudson's arm. As we headed outside, Hudson pulled Miranda closer to him, and kissed her forehead.

I offered my hand to Vasquez, but she wasn't interested. "You know I'm still getting that tattoo. The least you could do is hold my hand, honey," I groaned.

Wierzbowski watched us, and glanced at Eliza. "I . . . think it's too early for this."

"For what?" she replied.

"You know . . . the hand-holding."

"Why?"

"W-We just met . . ."

Eliza gave him a small smile. "Your shyness is endearing." She offered him her hand.

Wierzbowski looked tempted, but ultimately chose against it. He put his hands in his pockets and began walking away, nervously.

_Bad move,_ I thought. _She offered it, you should've taken it, big guy._ I didn't dare say that out loud, but I was hoping he'd recognize it.

* * *

_Question: Out of the three other characters in relationships-Drake, Hudson, and Hicks-who is the best for Wierzbowski to seek advice from?_

_Author's Note: I call this "dorky at its finest" (although Spunkmeyer still reigns supreme as most awkward).  
_

_I do apologize to those who have stated the "this character has a friend you could meet" is an overused trope, and I hope you can forgive me for using it, especially if you felt it was written well enough._


	7. Chapter 7

I noticed Eliza looked a little disappointed when Wierzbowski didn't want to hold her hand. She walked behind him, choosing not to offer again. As we entered the bowling alley, I got a chance to talk to her one-on-one. "Hey, don't feel too bad about Wierzbowski," I said.

"Pardon?" Eliza replied.

"Him not wanting to hold your hand. Don't take it personally. He's just shy."

"I noticed. And I can definitely tell he's not experienced with dating."

"No, he's not. Don't let that make you think he's a bad guy, though. Once you get past the shyness and the awkwardness, he'll be the best friend you'll ever have. Plus, he's tall and has wide shoulders. No one's gonna mess with you when he's walking beside you."

"I'd be more scared of you than I would be of 'Ski."

I frowned. "What?"

"Well . . . you just look very mean and scary, Drake. No offense."

_Well, fuck you._ I walked down to our lane, where the others were picking out their balls and putting on their shoes. Hudson was at the snack bar, paying for a beer and an ice cream sandwich. I imagined he was going to be flat-out wasted in less than an hour if Miranda didn't tell him to stop.

Vasquez was putting in our names, and it had been decided that it would be guys against girls because of the even number. "Even if you win, you're still getting the tattoo," Vasquez said when I grabbed a ball.

"I know. I love you, too," I replied.

She glared at me, and I kissed the tip of her nose.

"Why're you so grumpy tonight?" I hugged her, and put her head on my shoulder.

"Have I not made it obvious enough that I don't want to be here?"

"Aww. Come on, you get to watch me scream like a little girl when someone puts a needle near my crotch. Then this will be worth it."

"You have a point. You're rolling first."

"OK." I waited for the pins to be set up, and glanced over my shoulder. Vasquez was flipping me off. I smirked, and took my shot. The ball collided with the pins in a very satisfying strike. I turned around, and gave Vasquez both middle fingers. "Suck on that, honey."

Without a word, Vasquez took her turn. She, too, got a strike, then slapped me.

Hudson set down his drink to take his turn. "I can get a strike, too, man." It should come as no surprise that his aim was off. The ball wobbled down the lane until it hit the right side of the pins, leaving five standing. "Shit, man!"

"Just don't miss this next one," Wierzbowski said.

Hudson picked up his ball when it was spat out of the machine. He threw it, and only cleared three more pins. "Dammit!"

Wierzbowski got up after Miranda's turn. He grabbed a sixteen-pounder, and strolled up to the lane. I think my jaw hit the ground when I saw just how fast he was able to throw that thing toward the pins. His applause was well-earned.

"Nice throw," Eliza said. "Looked like it could've hurt, though."

"Not really." Wierzbowski sat next to her. "For you, maybe."

"You're kinda right. I do have weak shoulders. My right one, especially. I injured it when I was a kid, and it really hasn't been the same."

"Does it hurt to touch?"

"Only if you squeeze too hard." Eliza stood up to take her turn, her right hand slightly lingering on Wierzbowski's shoulder.

* * *

When we were halfway done with the round, I looked at a clock. It was almost six-thirty, and yet I was tired. As I rolled my ball, I realized that I had gone almost twelve hours without any kind of episode related to my PTSD, or even thinking about it. _I'm going to burn out soon,_ I thought. _You can't do that; there are too many people here . . . I have to! I'm tired! I can't maintain this energy forever!_

I tried not to think about it, but then everything started to drag. Well, everything around me was dragging. My heart began pounding. From the dark crevices of my brain, I was hearing, _Quit. Collapse. Cry. Give up. Scream._

Someone dropped their ball. It didn't break anything, but it was still a very loud _bang_. I was suddenly inside the lab in the Bahamas. I had just tried to set fire to the silver flowers, and they exploded. With a bang.

"Drake, it's your turn, man. Drake?" Hudson was shaking my shoulder.

"I need to use the restroom." I stood up, half-staggering toward the men's room. Once I was inside, I locked myself in a stall, and had my panic attack. I was breathing hard, and I felt like I wasn't getting enough air in my lungs. That just made me more anxious. It kept getting worse every second.

I don't know how long I was in there, panicking, but someone did eventually come for me. "Drake, open the door," Wierzbowski said.

Nervously, I did. My heavy breathing morphed into sobbing.

Wierzbowski knelt in front of me, and gripped my shoulders. "Take a single deep breath, slowly. Try to relax. I'm right here."

It took some time, but I managed to slow down my breathing. My heart was still throbbing rapidly. Tears were dripping down my face, and felt cold on my neck.

"Better?"

I nodded.

"Think you can go back out there?"

"I don't know."

"That's fine. We can stay here till you're ready."

As we sat there, Hudson walked into the restroom, and knelt by us. "Everything OK, man?"

"He'll be fine," Wierzbowski said. "Giving him a few minutes to breathe."

Hudson nodded, before grabbing me into a hug. "You're OK, Drake. Don't give up, man."

"I'm not giving up," I said.

"Just sayin', man." Hudson patted my back, then helped me stand. He and Wierzbowski walked me out to the snack bar to get me some water before heading back to our lane.

Make no mistake, I wanted to go back to base, but I refused to ruin everything for everyone else.

When we returned to the girls, Eliza playfully poked Wierzbowski after he sat next to her. She grinned at him when he turned to face her.

"Now, what was that for?" he asked.

"Nothing," she replied.

"Don't do it again. Please."

Eliza frowned, and was quiet for a few minutes. "Is . . . everything OK?"

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"You don't seem like you're . . . all that motivated to talk more. We did all the small talk in the restaurant. Are you not ready to move just a teensy bit forward?"

Now Wierzbowski was quiet. He stood up to take his turn, and then walked back to say, "I need to talk to you somewhere private."

Later, I would learn he took her to a small hallway behind the arcade out front, leading to a maintenance closet. He glanced around nervously, before putting his hands in his pockets and saying, "I'm an alcoholic. Recovering, actually, but . . . yeah, I'm . . . I'm . . . an alcoholic."

Eliza was nodding, looking unsure of what to say.

"Look, I knew at some point, I was gonna have to tell you. It's not exactly a part of myself I look at fondly, and . . . I wouldn't feel too uncomfortable about it if I hadn't quit so recently. I was clean for about four-and-a-half years, but I started again after going home and . . . interacting with people who weren't going to be very helpful. I started-the first time-soon after my divorce. I was that upset. Didn't have anyone to turn to the way I do now. Months went by, and then I realized I needed to change, so I enlisted. I quit right then and there, but it didn't change the fact that I'm a pushover when it comes to people. I-I'm afraid of making a bad impression. I'm afraid of coming across as a . . . a bad person." Wierzbowski fell silent, nervous about Eliza's response. "If this changes how you saw me earlier, I completely understand."

"It doesn't. Honest to God, it doesn't. Well, actually, it does change things in a good way. Thank you for being honest."

"Really?"

"Yes. I don't want you to be miserable, and you've been looking miserable for the majority of this date. Something was up and you weren't saying anything."

"I didn't want to just blurt it out in front of everyone."

"And I get that."

"You wish I said something earlier?"

"No. Go at your own pace. Do you feel better now that you told me?"

"Yeah. Actually. I do. I-I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, 'Ski." Eliza held out her hand. "Friends?"

Without a word, Wierzbowski took it. Eliza squeezed his hand, smiling at him. He tried to smile back. "So, I guess . . . I guess we should plan another outing. Just the two of us."

"Are you sure? I love hanging out with so many people."

"I don't. Not trying to be mean. I'm being honest. I would like to have one date where it's just me and you."

"OK. How does this coming Thursday sound? That's the only day I'm not scheduled to work a late shift."

"Sounds good. And what should we do?"

"You like Greek food?"

"Can't remember the last time I had any."

"I know a place. You'll love it. Just take the Metro to Crystal City, and I'll meet you there, say . . . four PM."

"Alright. I can handle it."

* * *

Thankfully, it wasn't too late at night when the round finally ended and we could start going our separate ways. Eliza went first, giving Wierzbowski a long hug before stepping on her train home. I caught a glimpse of her putting her information on a slip of paper in his pocket.

Not long after Eliza left, we got on our own train back to base. I was impressed that Hudson wasn't totally drunk. He was a little tipsy, but not like the night we went to the grill in Spain. At least we don't have to shower together anymore.

Despite how tired I was, I had to keep my deal with Vasquez. Wierzbowski and Miranda decided to keep Hudson occupied while Vasquez took me to the tattoo parlor. Needless to say, poor Hudson just wanted to sit on a bench and fall asleep, and Wierzbowski refused to carry him.

We walked about a block before coming to a small shop with neon signs covering the front window. Inside, a muscular guy with buzz-cut hair and a dopey cobra scaring the crap out of an Egyptian pharaoh on his right arm was finishing up the back of a customer (literally). When the woman left, Vasquez gestured to me while talking to the muscled guy.

The look on the man's face was hilarious, but he's probably heard weirder stuff over the years. I noticed a tag on his shirt read "Greston," so I assumed that was his name. "Alright, just tell me what you want and where," he said, shrugging.

Vasquez flipped through a design booklet, and smirked when she came upon something. "This one."

"Really? That's one of my newer designs. No one's picked it yet. And you said you want it on his right leg, right below the waist?"

"Yeah."

Greston looked at me. "Have you had a tattoo before?"

"No," I said.

"Well, if you ain't used to this, this's gonna hurt real bad. Especially in that spot."

"I agreed to this. Just do it."

Vasquez watched as I got in the chair, and partly pulled the right side of my pants down. "You nervous?"

"No."

After everything got washed and exchanged for sanitized needles and gloves and the like, Greston got to work. I was somewhat OK with the rubbing alcohol, but not so much with everything else. Vasquez paced the parlor while I grunted in pain. I kept telling myself there are things that I've been through that hurt a whole lot more. This should really be nothing.

It was not nothing. It was actually needles going into my skin. Oh my God, it hurt. The soreness from the silver flower antidote was definitely not helping one bit.

"How're you doing, Drake?" Vasquez asked.

"I'm doing great, honey," I groaned. I felt like someone was carving into me with a cleaver.

"Hey, it's not a big one, so, you're almost done. Looks good so far."

"Can I see it yet?"

"No."

"Almost" was an understatement. I think twenty more minutes passed when Greston finally pulled away the equipment and began the cleanup process. I had my hands over my head, and I sighed. "Now, can I see it?"

"Sure. It'll be upside-down from your view, though."

I looked, and was torn between laughing or groaning. "It's an . . . Annexer head. And he's got a rose in his teeth and his claws are out. That's fucking hilarious."

Vasquez laughed.

"Hey, I was afraid you were gonna make me get a Goddamn unicorn shitting rainbow ice cream or something like that."

"Seriously? I don't want to look at that every time you take your pants off." Vasquez patted my head. "You were on your best behavior, Drake, I'm proud of you."

I grinned, despite the immense pain in my groin. "Do I get a reward for my good behavior?"

"No. I went out with you and your scheme to get Wierzbowski a girlfriend. That's all you get."

"Damn."

* * *

It was hard to walk without a slight limp when I left the parlor with Vasquez. When Miranda had to leave, she gave Hudson a hug, and rubbed his cheeks before kissing him. "I love you, sweetie," she said, pinching him.

"I love you, too, pumpkin." Hudson nuzzled her. "I'll see you soon, OK?"

Their goodbyes would go on for another hour if Wierzbowski didn't pull Hudson away. "Alright, we need to get back before curfew. You'll see her later, Hudson."

"OK."

I tried to hide my limp when we got back to base. Hicks was standing in the doorway of Apone's office, and he smiled when he saw us. "Hey. Hope everyone had fun tonight."

"Yeah . . . we did," I said. "D-Did you?"

"I saw you in the restaurant," Hicks replied.

My stomach dropped. "Oh. Yeah . . . and we saw you, too, with Carlisle."

I don't know where the conversation could've gone from there. I glanced at my three companions, and then back at Hicks. "Is there something you need?"

"No. Hudson's not drunk, is he?" Hicks asked.

"I need a nap, man," Hudson moaned.

"Go to bed, then."

"OK, man." Hudson walked off, almost bumping into Spunkmeyer along the way.

We were about to walk away as well, but then Hicks said, "You OK, Drake? You're limping."

"Just . . . still sore," I replied.

* * *

The next morning, I went down to the mess hall to find people were asking Wierzbowski about last night.

". . . Come on, 'Ski, tell us about this girl you met," Frost said.

"If you don't say anything, it didn't happen," Crowe added.

"Am I not allowed to keep this to myself?" Wierzbowski asked.

"You're allowed to kiss my ass," Spunkmeyer said, smirking. That earned him a punch in the arm from Ferro. "Ow! For the love of-that fucking hurt!"

"Leave 'Ski alone," Ferro replied, "or I'll hit you again."

I sat down with my tray, and starting poking at the sad excuse for biscuits and gravy in the center.

"You were with 'Ski last night, right, Drake?" Frost asked. "Who was his date?"

Wierzbowski was giving me a pleading "Don't tell him" look. I shrugged, and said, "Why should I tell you?"

"You're all being ridiculous. Why can't we know?"

"Because I said so!" Wierzbowski shouted. "Can't you mind your own business for once?!"

"Do I need to start treating you guys like children?" Hicks asked, glaring at us. "Knock it off. If Wierzbowski doesn't wanna tell you, he doesn't have to. If I hear you all start pestering him again, there'll be no day trips into the city for _anyone_ for a fucking week, got it?"

That shut everyone up. After breakfast, Hicks called me and Hudson to his quarters. He looked irritated about something, and bit his tongue before saying, "Alright, where are they?"

"Where're what?" I asked.

"Your tattoos. Hudson?"

Hudson rolled up his left sleeve, showing Hicks the key in his elbow.

"Drake?"

I turned red as I lowered my pants. "I thought there were no rules against them after boot camp."

"No, but I need to make sure they're not inappropriate. You guys realize your medical checkups are tomorrow, right?"

"We are just learning that now."

Hicks sighed. "You always get checkups when we go to a new base. This is nothing new. Drake, you can pull up your pants now."

"Thanks. I was starting to feel a draft-"

"Nobody needs to know!"

"Sorry."

In all honesty, I wasn't expecting Hicks to be so antsy about Hudson and I getting inked and not telling him right away, which made me suspect something else was going on with him. You know, most likely in the Carlisle department.

I observed him throughout the day, and noticed he was, indeed, anxious. He was pacing frequently, and looking like he couldn't focus on anything. It was in the afternoon when he seemed to give up, and went into the courtyard to be alone. It didn't help that he wasn't letting anyone talk to him, but I figured it was best he try to gather his thoughts first; pressuring him would probably do no good.

That night was when I realized something a little bit deeper was wrong.

"Go clean your rooms," Hicks said, ushering us toward our living quarters. "Grab a dustpan, grab some wet washcloths. Go clean everything. Make the bed. Dust every shelf. I want everything spotless."

"We got less than an hour till lights-out, man," Hudson replied.

"I don't care. Go clean your fucking room. I know for a fact yours is disgusting, Private. We haven't even been here two weeks and you've already turned your Goddamn room into a pigsty."

"Hicks, what the hell is your problem?"

"I gave you an instruction, _Hudson_, and you're going to follow it! We can't function as a unit if you're asking stupid questions!"

"I'm gonna go get Doctor Ranelli," I whispered, turning to jog down the hallway.

"No, you're not!" Hicks reached to grab my shoulder, only to be stopped by Wierzbowski. "Get out of my way."

Wierzbowski didn't move. He looked over his shoulder saying, "Drake, go."

Hicks tried to push him. Look, I don't deny Hicks's strength, but, let's face it, you can't just push Wierzbowski.

* * *

_Question: How has Drake continued to improve in regards to handling his anxiety?_


	8. Chapter 8

I had to be fast, or else Hicks could hurt someone, or himself. I knocked on Ranelli's door, yelling, "Hey! We need you, it's an emergency!"

Ranelli was clearly ready to call it a night. He was in his pajamas and bathrobe and holding a folded TV guide. "What on Earth's going on, Drake?"

"It's Hicks."

"What about him?"

"I think he's . . . relapsed."

"Oh, dear." In his pajamas and blue-striped slippers, Ranelli was marching down the hall with me close behind. He put the TV guide in his pocket before entering our living quarters, where Wierzbowski was still trying to keep Hicks at bay. Hicks was screaming about something, and foaming at the mouth. Apone was jogging over to the commotion, and was about to grab Hicks when he spotted Ranelli.

"Just what in the hell is going on?!" Apone shouted.

"I dunno, Sarge!" Hudson said.

"Sergeant, tell Hicks to stop for one moment!" Ranelli demanded.

Putting his cigar back in his mouth, Apone took Hicks by the shoulders, and turned him around. "Knock it off, Corporal. That's an order."

Hicks's eyes were still glowing with rage, but he stopped yelling and he looked around at everyone.

"Hicks, you're going to come with me for a little while," Ranelli said.

When they disappeared, the rest of us were still standing around in the hallway. No one laughed. No one made jokes. I noticed Crowe wearing a somber expression from the corner of my eye. "Thought we'd never have to see that again."

"It's been, what, four years since his last one?" Wierzbowski said. "Doesn't change how scary it is."

"Usually, we could see it coming. This came outta nowhere," Frost added.

"He was very agitated all day, man. I had a feeling something was wrong," Hudson mumbled.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't think he was gonna blow up like that!"

"That wasn't an ordinary explosion, Hudson!"

"Alright, people, that's enough," Apone said from down the hall. "You got thirty minutes till lights-out. Start winding down."

Wierzbowski, Hudson, and I all went into Hudson's room, where we sat in silence for a few minutes. Hudson threw off his T-shirt, and sighed. "Something was up and I said nothing."

"No one would've assumed Hicks was sinking back into his bipolar depression. It's been a long time since he had that bad of an episode. At least on the mania side," Wierzbowski said.

I took a breath. "You know, I don't want to start anymore crap, but I think this has something to do with his girlfriend. Not anything she's done, but because she's from that period in his life. She brings back those memories. Inadvertently, she's pressing those buttons in Hicks's brain. Because they haven't been in contact since he came to this unit, he subconsciously associates her with his friend's death, and his friend's death is what set this off."

"She hasn't been bringing it up around him, has she?" Hudson asked.

"I didn't hear them talk about it when they met up with each other last week. I don't know if they've brought it up since. I think it's just the memories alone. Maybe they're triggering nightmares."

"Honestly, Drake, that makes a lot of sense," Wierzbowski said. "We can't just tell them to break up. Hicks has made it clear he loves this woman."

"He needs to subconsciously not associate her with Paulson's death."

Hudson thought for a moment. "What if Ranelli tried hypnosis on Hicks? I've been feeling a lot better since I unlocked all my memories. Maybe he can convince Hicks to think of something else when he sees Carlisle."

"I feel like that would take a long time," Wierzbowski replied. "You just needed to access a piece of your subconscious. Hicks needs to _block_ a piece of his subconscious."

"And I think he'll feel blocking out the memory of Paulson's death will be straight-up forgetting Paulson altogether. The man was a huge part of Hicks's life. He can't just . . . forget that. He needs to change how he thinks." I drew my legs up, resting my chin on my knees. "Just like I need to do with my own past."

There was silence for another few minutes. Our minds had all wandered into different directions. Hudson looked ready to fall asleep, so Wierzbowski and I left the room. "Hey, man, make sure you turn the light out," Hudson said.

"The lamp is right next to you, lazy bum," I replied, closing the door on my way out.

Wierzbowski invited me into his room for the last fifteen minutes before bed. I sat in a chair, staring out the window while Wierzbowski was in the bathroom. I'm not entirely sure how far away the base is from the city, but I could see some skyscrapers poking out above the trees that sheltered us from view. I gave a sad sigh, wishing, deep down, that I was living in one of those apartments, wishing that I had earned my redemption and was living a little more freely.

"What're you thinking about?"

I glanced at Wierzbowski as he placed his boots next to the bed. "Not . . . much, I guess. I dunno. Just thinking about what I could be doing when my contract ends."

"Your road's a bit more complicated than mine. I know that."

"Yeah. Both Vasquez and I have to convince some civvie representative that we're not gonna go kill someone as soon as we get our discharges." I rubbed my face. "I know a lot can change in a few years, but, it still makes me anxious that . . . we might not be let go, and we'll have to serve another stint. Or worse, if we refuse, we'll be sent back to prison."

"Personally, I'd hope you choose to stay." Wierzbowski untucked his shirt before getting in bed. "I think the rest of the group would feel the same. I know it'd be a difficult thing for you to accept, and I think you'd rather be around people you know and who care about you."

"You're right. I think I'd become suicidal if I was told that I can't become a civilian again."

"Hey, it's still a long ways off. I think you'll be allowed to get an honorable discharge. You don't exactly have a bad behavior record. Hell, you've got a bravery medal, and you've done some impressive things."

"Well, it's also about . . . feeling like I've redeemed myself for everything I've done wrong. Honestly, that's more important than anything else right now."

Wierzbowski was quiet for a moment. He set his dogtags on his nightstand, and grabbed a book from inside a drawer. "Here's something to think about: how do you know when you've gotten your redemption?"

"When I stop feeling guilty about everything."

"What will it take for you to stop feeling guilty?"

"A fucking miracle."

Wierzbowski smirked. "Like I said, just think about it. Think really hard about it. What does current Drake have compared to past Drake?"

Apone declared lights-out a couple minutes early, so I had to go to my room before I could answer that question. I was thinking about it while I brushed my teeth and absentmindedly stared at myself in the mirror. Anyone who looked at me now compared to how I was when I went to prison would say I was a completely different person. I was a lot sadder, meaner, and colder on the day I was dropped off at a juvenile detention facility. I mean, what did you expect? I knew I was going to die in there, and I was convinced I deserved it.

I've said multiple times before that what I did was a stroke of bad luck. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't feel like repeating myself, when I've written this at least once in every journal I've kept since being stationed in Australia.

I was very aimless all those years ago. I didn't know what to do with myself. I wasn't at all smart, and I was very stubborn. No friends to speak of.

I still feel a little aimless, but I have things I want and will stop at nothing to get. I want my own place to live, be married to Vasquez, and have one kid. I'm doing something with myself now, even though it wasn't the first thing on my mind. Years from now, I don't think I'll regret my service, because it was an opportunity that's brought me more than I feel I deserve. I'm still a stubborn asshole. That's not changing. And I have a lot more friends now.

What does that have to do with my redemption? I sighed, lying on my stomach with my face planted in the pillow. I could hear Hudson snoring next door, and I lay still, hoping to just fall asleep soon. I didn't want to think anymore, so I listened to Hudson. He groaned while stretching, and then gave a very contented sigh.

I was envious of his happiness.

* * *

I awoke with a dull ache in my lower back, and sat up while massaging it. Apone was down the hall, knocking on everyone's door. Sighing, I rolled out of bed, and searched my dresser for a clean pair of shorts. Someone said it was going to be sunny and warm today. If that was the case, I wanted to be outdoors. Pretty sure my vitamin D is shit.

After shaving, I headed down to the mess hall, returning everyone's "good mornings" with a grunt.

"Why do you look so grumpy, Drake? It's gonna be a nice day today," Ferro said.

I looked at her. "I'm not a morning person."

"Have some grapefruit juice," said Spunkmeyer. "It's tart, and it'll perk you up."

When the small talk ended, Crowe asked, "Hicks isn't back yet?"

"Ranelli's keeping him busy until he starts slowing down," Apone replied. "You all don't have to worry about anything."

"So, does that mean we're doing nothing today?" I asked.

"No. You're gonna get some fresh air by taking a good ol' fashioned run through the woods."

"I can't run right after I eat."

"We'll be running an hour after breakfast. Quit your bitching, Drake."

I was hoping Apone was kidding, but, he wasn't. We headed outside an hour later, and spent a few minutes stretching. This was supposed to be a casual jog, but none of us wanted to look like we were out of shape, and of course some of us want to have bragging rights.

Not me. I just don't want to be slow.

There's only one path in the woods on the base's property, so if you got lost, you're not that smart. It weaves around in the southeast sector and then does a wide loop along the northwest edge to bring you back to the starting point. In the center of the woods, where there are no paths, squads practice combat in deciduous forest. If you are caught in there without permission, you will get in trouble, so stay on the fucking path.

We all started jogging. Vasquez sped ahead of us, breezing past Apone. I was embarrassed, so I tried catching up to her. My chest was already hurting, and I was still a bit sore from the antidote. I didn't want to let that stop me.

Wierzbowski came up alongside me. "Even out your breathing, Drake. Don't go too fast. It's not a race."

Behind us, Hudson was starting to breathe heavily. He was trying to stay close to me and Wierzbowski (probably so he didn't get picked on by someone else). "Hold up, man! W-Wait . . . Wait for me, man!"

Wierzbowski pushed Hudson ahead of us. "Come on! You can make it!"

"Can't breathe, man!" Hudson gasped.

"Stop talking, then."

I ran past Hudson. "You clearly haven't done this in a long time."

He couldn't talk at all. I think Wierzbowski was only staying alongside him so he didn't pass out or throw up. Eventually, though, Hudson slowed down to a pathetic-looking jog. Frost and Crowe passed him, then Ferro and Spunkmeyer, and then Dietrich didn't even stop to ask if Hudson was doing OK.

Vasquez was ahead all on her own. I dashed up to her, but she completely ignored me, and tried to get further ahead. She didn't slow her pace until she was a good distance away from everyone else.

The entire trail was ten miles. I began a light jog at around the five-mile mark. At that point, everyone was going at their own pace and were away from the rest of us, or with whoever they wanted to run with. I could hear people yelling and encouraging their partners.

At the eight-mile mark, I put my hands over my head as my jog slowed to a walk. My chest was hurting bad, and it was making me anxious. I tried to take slow, even breaths, but my body wanted me to breathe fast. I am by no means out of shape; just, whenever my chest hurts, it can set off my PTSD. I had put up with it for the last eight miles of the run, but then my brain couldn't take it anymore.

Five minutes later, Wierzbowski caught up to me. "Drake! Why'd you stop? You alright?"

I gestured to my chest, unable to speak.

"You need me to get Dietrich?"

I shook my head, then gestured to it.

"Oh. Alright. I'll walk with you, then." Wierzbowski ended his jog, and pulled his water bottle out of one of the deep pockets on his utility trousers. After taking a quick drink, he put the bottle back in his pocket, and put his hands over his head. For someone as fit as he is, he can sweat; his shirt was almost completely soaked.

When we regained our breaths, I glanced at him. "Have you been thinking about Eliza?"

"Um . . . a little. I'm actually really nervous about Thursday."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No. I need to do this on my own. But thank you for offering." Wierzbowski took another breath. "I have to ask, though . . . and, please don't laugh, but . . . when do you kiss her?"

"You mean like, mouth-on-mouth?"

"I guess."

"Whenever you and her start to lean in on each other. You both will feel it. Never lean in for it if she's not leaning in for it."

"OK. What about . . . a kiss on the cheek or the forehead?"

"Save that for the end of the date. When you go to say goodbye, give her a quick kiss on the cheek or forehead. If she kisses you as well, you're golden." I looked up the blue sky through the tree branches, and let my arms drop to my sides. "What not to do: don't talk about sex on the second date."

"I'm fine with that. I don't care, to be honest."

"You still a virgin?"

"Yeah."

"But you were-"

"We never did it. Not kidding."

"You better keep this between us. Frost and Hudson won't let you hear the end of it."

"You know that Ferro, Spunkmeyer, Dietrich, and Hicks are also virgins, right?"

"OK, you have a point. Still. None of them were ever married." I smirked. "Your marriage really was loveless."

"Shut it. Alright, what else should I not do on the second date?"

"Don't talk about marriage. It's too soon for that. Try not to be so shy. I know that's probably the hardest thing for you to do, but, at least try. You met her, you know what she's like. You feel comfortable around her, right?"

"Yeah."

"Don't let bad past experiences get in the way. Be . . . a little more open. If she wants to just hold your hand, let her hold your hand. It won't hurt you. If she wants to give you a hug, let her. Little things like that will have a massive impact on your relationship. Trust me."

Wierzbowski nodded. "Thanks, Drake."

As we came back to where the trail starts, Vasquez was waiting for us, doing some cool-down stretches in the grass. "Drake, I really don't appreciate you trying to throw me off."

I frowned. "I wasn't trying to throw you off. Do you have a problem with me wanting to run with you?"

"Actually, yes, I do. Because then I have to go slower."

"Honey, you clearly didn't see Hudson back there."

As you may have guessed, Hudson was way behind everyone. I think we were waiting over a half-hour before he came walking down the trail, sweating profusely and holding his stomach.

"You're lucky you're already in the Marines, dude," I said. "You woulda failed out hard."

Hudson let out a guttural moan before dropping to his knees. "Cramps . . . cramps, man . . ."

"Stand up," Dietrich ordered. "Walk around a little bit."

Poor Hudson walked around in a circle while the rest of us had some water and stretched. He grabbed his stomach again, and then keeled over, groaning. "God, it feels like someone's . . . someone's stabbing my thighs, man."

"It'll go away in a few minutes. Relax."

Time passed, and Hudson still looked like he was in pain. The pain was slowly subsiding, and I was sensing he was now embarrassed. Another cramp gripped him, and he bent over. I felt bad for him. I shouldn't, but I did.

We headed back inside, with Hudson walking unsteadily. As much as I knew that he was out of shape and needed to do this more often, I didn't want to see him in pain, especially since we had our regular checkups today. I knew for a fact Dietrich wasn't going to give him a heating pad, so I went to Doctor Ranelli.

I entered his office to find Hicks sitting on the couch, staring at a notebook. I was tempted to ask how he was doing, but I was also afraid he was going to lash out at me.

When I walked by him, he spoke up. "Hey, Drake."

I took that as a sign he was back in reality. "You feeling OK?"

Hicks nodded. "Very tired. I didn't sleep last night. Didn't want to. Had a need to fix everything and make it perfect. Make the whole unit perfect. It was like I forgot you guys aren't my old unit. I'm sorry."

"Don't feel too bad," I said. "Do you have an idea of what . . . could've set this off?"

"I was talking to Ranelli about that a few hours ago. Paige . . . might have something to do with it."

I thought for a moment. "Some of the other guys were suggesting that last night."

Hicks fell silent, then gave a heavy sigh. "You'd think that I'd be . . . somewhat over all this, but . . . I'm not." He rubbed his face. "All I've been doing is running from it, trying to avoid it. Every time something related to . . . what happened comes up, I shut down. I shouldn't be shutting down. I'm the corporal of this unit. I-I need to be tougher than that. Th-This can't be getting in the way anymore."

"Paulson meant a lot to you."

"It's really not about Paulson anymore. It's about my response to his death. Instead of getting back on my feet, I curled up in a ball and cried. Instead of moving on, I let it drag me backward. Instead of honoring his memory, I snapped, and blamed myself, and . . . gradually turned into a monster. I didn't know how to process my emotions. Now, I let them control me. That's not what I want."

I wasn't all that sure how to respond to that. A part of me was afraid Hicks wanted to become emotionless, but I also wondered if this was the depressive half of his bipolar two kicking in. I'm no expert, unfortunately, so I can't be sure.

I wished Hicks well, and then approached Ranelli, asking for a heating pad to give to Hudson. I then left, not giving Hicks a second glance.

* * *

_Question: Would breaking up with Carlisle be the best approach for Hicks, or would that be interpreted as running away from his past again?_

_Author's Note: Clearly, Hudson did not use the treadmill during the winter months like he was told to. Running cramps suck when you're not used to it._


	9. Chapter 9

We didn't see Hicks when we were all walked down to sick bay to have our exams. The guys were separated from the girls, and we were shuffled into a large room, where we were told to strip and put our clothes on a bench.

We were going in alphabetical order, so Crowe was first. We were lined up, completely naked, and unable to do anything. A medic was going down the line, taking our blood pressure and temperature. I winced when the pressure band was tightened around my arm. Spunkmeyer grunted in pain.

Fifteen minutes later, Crowe emerged. "Good luck."

I sighed as I stepped into the next exam room. A masked doctor took my height and weight, and then told me to open my mouth. He looked at his assistant. "Tonsils were removed. Write that down." He felt my neck, and probed my chest and belly by gently pressing with his fingertips. Afterwards, he put the stethoscope to my chest, then my back.

He put the stethoscope away, and proceeded to check my private parts. I'm not going into detail here, but I will say that the soreness from the antidote made everything that's usually sensitive a lot more sensitive. I shrieked, and spent the rest of the exam cussing out the doctor.

When I went back into the larger room, I was met with stares and silence as I made my way to the bench to put my clothes back on. "He fucking pinched it," I grumbled. "Spunkmeyer, I know you are ten times more sore than I am. You brace yourself, bud."

The blood pretty much drained from Spunkmeyer's face.

I was happier once I got my clothes back on, but I was going to hurt for a while. It was about an hour before everyone else got dressed and returned to their daily activities, and I noticed poor Spunkmeyer holding himself as he limped out of sick bay.

I usually see the regular exam as a minor inconvenience, but that wasn't the case today. I'll try to sum it up as best I can.

Several hours later, I was brought back in because traces of an unknown substance were found in my blood. I assumed it was the doctors baffled about the antidote, but that wasn't the case. I was thoroughly checked over again, and given both an X-ray and an MRI scan. Both showed a cluster of twelve marble-sized anomalies underneath my diaphragm.

I really struggled not to panic. With the amount of time I waited to hear results, it was impossible not to panic. Worse yet, I was alone in the exam room. I sat there in a flimsy hospital robe, crying, unsure of what these . . . things were in my body.

Someone in there must've had some common sense, because they brought up my experience with the silver flowers. Long story short, they phoned Doctor Hornby to see what he knew, and his answer was this: "They're basically organic capsules of poison, a byproduct of when Drake was placed in hypersleep immediately after his encounter. They deposit themselves between organs, not disturbing a thing. In a sense, they are waste when the poison has flushed itself out. You tend to see incredibly large 'silver pearls' in animals that've died as a result of the flower. With Drake's case, they are completely harmless unless the shell is penetrated. I believe the only reason it showed up in the blood tests was the antidote; it 'shaved off' a microscopic layer of the pearls, and sent it through the bloodstream."

In all honesty, I didn't feel much better. "Why won't those fucking flowers leave me alone?"

"I didn't cause this, Drake," Hornby replied. "If you let me remove them, they won't reappear. They aren't parasitic, and it should be a smooth operation. Give me a few days, and I'll get back to you."

I was dismissed from sick bay, and I immediately went to find Hudson and Wierzbowski. There was silence after I told them what was going on.

"I know this probably ain't helpful, man, but, at least you're not dying," Hudson said.

Wierzbowski glared at him.

"Just saying, man."

I sighed. "I-I really don't care. I just can't believe this."

"At least all you need is one operation to deal with it, and then it's all over," Wierzbowski replied. "And we're all gonna be here for you when you're recovering."

"I'll be out of action for awhile." I rubbed my face. "This is gonna be a stain on my record."

"No, it's not, man." Hudson patted my shoulder.

"The USCM is gonna see me as a burden and I'll be sent back to prison."

"Drake, no. Everything'll be OK, man."

I took a deep breath.

"You're just nervous. You're not gonna get kicked out, man."

* * *

It didn't take long for the whole unit, including Hicks, to find out. After dinner, I approached Apone in private. "I'm not going to be looked at by the brass over this, am I?"

"What gave you that idea?" Apone asked.

"I've had several medical incidents over the last several months. They don't see me as a burden?"

"You're not injuring yourself or making yourself sick, Drake. No, you're not getting kicked out. Trust me, I've seen worse than this. Just relax, OK?"

I next went to Ranelli. I guess he had heard everything, too, because he simply gestured for me to sit before saying, "At this point, Drake, it's up to you whether or not this will set you back."

"I don't want to deal with this anymore. Every single time I think I've gotten away, I . . . it comes back. Y-You know I've been getting along better with some of my teammates. I was focusing on that. I'm helping Wierzbowski with his love life. Why do those fucking flowers have to come back and yank everything out from under me again?"

"I've already told you that they can't do anymore damage than they've already done. You endured the worst. You have more power over this than you think you do. Trust yourself, Drake."

"I don't think I can. I'm tired of being set back. I was doing so well. Why does this come along a-and throw everything off? Obviously it means I'm not meant to have peace of mind!"

Ranelli barely reacted to my outburst. "When you accept this, you'll calm down. Besides, once you have this operation, you'll be fine. Think of it as a final cleansing."

At the time, I wasn't thinking clearly. I spent the rest of the evening fuming about this, and feeling sorry for myself. I think everyone else noticed, but they didn't say anything. No one said a word when I refused to go down to the lounge with everyone.

I decided to go to bed early. I knew I probably wasn't going to sleep well with the knowledge that there were a bunch of silver pearls nestled in the lower parts of my chest. Why bother going to bed if I wasn't going to sleep? Why bother?

I just wanted this to end. I didn't want to wait anymore.

Tears rolled down my face as I stared down at the razor in my hands. I didn't want to bother removing the blade from its case; I can just jam the thing down on my wrist and that should do the trick-

Dear God, what am I _thinking?!_

I dropped the razor in the sink, and sank to my knees, sobbing. I didn't think I was crying that loud, but someone heard, and that someone was Wierzbowski. He entered my room, and was about to knock on the bathroom door when he changed his mind; he threw open the door, and he saw the razor in the sink. Kneeling front of me, he took my hands from my face, looking at my wrists. When he saw I hadn't done anything, he squeezed me. "Drake, don't do this. Please."

For the next several minutes, there was silence, aside from my crying.

"I couldn't do it. I can't do it," I said.

"Of course you can't." Wierzbowski shook me. "Do you have any idea how the rest of us would feel if you did this to yourself? Do you?"

I nodded.

Wierzbowski's shock gradually faded. "This isn't going to last forever. You killing yourself _will_ last forever, and it won't solve anything. You can't do this to me. You can't do this to Vasquez, or Hudson, or Hicks. Jesus Christ, can you imagine how Hicks would react? And Vasquez . . . you see a future with her. You've told me about how much you want to spend the rest of your life with her, to start a family with her. Why would you take that away from her?" He looked in my eyes. "You've touched the lives of so many people, Drake. Don't ever forget that." He gripped my arms. "You can beat this. You've come so far. Don't throw it away."

I nodded again.

"I don't know what else is going on in your head right now, but I'm going to stay up with you tonight. You did it for me, and it's my turn to return the favor."

* * *

I managed to get to sleep, but, as I said, it wasn't very restful. I tossed, turned, moaned, and twitched all through the night. I was dreaming that the silver pearls were rotting inside me, killing everything they touched. The doctors were telling me organ failure was inevitable. I dreamt that they had rendered my skin too thin; when I simply touched the base of my chest, it split open, and the pearls were falling out, dropping through a clear membrane that hung out of the wound.

I described everything to Ranelli in the morning. He could see just how disturbed I was, but at least he didn't overreact.

"Truth be told, I was worried about you when you left my office last night," he said. "Turns out I was partially right. Doesn't it . . . make you feel better that you have people who love you and would miss you?"

"It does. I-I don't want to tell anyone else about . . . what happened. Especially Hicks."

"Hicks is the first person you really should be talking to. Explain to him what happened. Let him know Wierzbowski answered your cry for help."

"He'll be upset that he wasn't the one responding."

"I don't think so. The act of you informing him will be satisfactory, Drake. You didn't wait for him to hear it through the grapevine. All he wants to know is that you trust him."

I nodded. "How's he been doing?"

"Better. I let him know that he needs to sit down and have a talk with his girlfriend, preferably with someone acting as mediator. He actually wants that someone to be you."

"Why?"

"He trusts you, obviously."

I sighed. "Did he say when he wants to do this?"

"No. He needs some time to think and make sure he has rational questions and answers lined up for Carlisle. It isn't her fault this happened, and we don't need her thinking that."

I was quiet for a moment. My nightmares were surfacing in my mind, and I rubbed my face while sighing again. "What do you think is going to happen after the operation?"

"I think you're going to feel a lot better, psychologically. You're not going to magically get better, but I have a feeling you'll be taking a couple steps closer to being more confident. Remember this: the majority of mental illnesses have no cure. They can go into remission, but it's only a matter of time before they re-emerge. Your goal is not only to push your PTSD into remission, but to have better control of it if and when it should ever return. Any little thing can set it off. I understand you're worried about that happening when you become a civilian and you're on a job."

"Yeah."

"And I've said before that's not something you should worry about right now. I'm trying to teach you how to control it, so that when the day comes, you'll be able to handle it, OK?"

"OK."

"Now, serious question, how do you feel at this moment?"

"Tired. Frustrated."

"I don't have to worry about you having those dark thoughts during the day?"

"No. I promise."

"Good."

"You actually believe me?"

"Of course I do. You're both my patient, and a friend. I trust you, genuinely. Plus, trusting you allows for the growth of confidence. If I said, 'no,' and placed you on suicide watch, you'd probably feel as though you can't be trusted to do anything on your own. I've had a lot of experience with you. I know a good chunk of your behavior patterns, the way you think, etcetera. You believe what happened last night was a mistake. You overreacted, and you know now it wasn't right. You want to succeed in this."

I frowned. "You know this isn't the first time, right?"

"Oh, I know. That was why Apone called me all those months ago. You may think about it, but you haven't _acted_ on it. There's a difference. You've built up a large enough support around you to where that is a major stopping point for those kinds of thoughts. Deep down, you know that it would hurt those around you. You always think about that first. That's why you can't bring yourself to do it."

I thought for a moment. "Does that mean I'm smart?"

Ranelli laughed until tears were streaming down his face. "If you want to interpret it that way, go right ahead."

I gave a lopsided smirk. "Wait till I tell Vasquez I'm smart."

* * *

I found Hicks in the courtyard after breakfast. He was staring up at a cherry tree that hasn't blossomed yet, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. I sat across from him, saying, "Mind if I talk to you?"

"Sure, go ahead," Hicks replied, turning his full attention toward me.

I explained what happened last night. His expression didn't change all the much, and I was bracing myself for an explosion. However, that didn't happen.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"For the most part, yeah."

"And . . . Ranelli's not concerned-"

"No."

Hicks looked back up at the tree. "That's good."

"You're not . . . upset?"

"No. Why would I be upset?"

"Because I know this is a touchy subject for you."

"Drake, you told me when you could. No one got hurt."

"What about you? Are you OK?"

"I'm more concerned about you right now. I mean, the good news is that Hornby called not that long ago, and said he was able to fit you in for surgery next week. But, I know that you'd rather get this done now."

"Hey, I don't have control over that. Next week is fine. I don't care." I sighed. "Did he give the details on it?"

"Some. It'll be about a four-inch incision, might take about two hours or more, and you are going to need to be really careful afterwards. You gotta watch how you sit, stand, and you can't bend over, or slouch. And you'll need to wear a protective brace at night to keep from curling up and potentially damaging that incision."

"Lemme guess: I'm gonna be out of action for a long time."

"Actually, no. Three weeks, but that's if you leave everything alone and don't tear the incision open."

"If it completely gets rid of the fucking pearls, I don't care. Let's just get it over with. I won't argue."

The one thing Hicks and I didn't talk about was Carlisle. I was tempted to ask, but I chose not to.

In all honesty, I did feel better now that I knew when the surgery was going to take place, and I tried to focus on something else. On Tuesday, I had exactly one week until I went under the knife, so I started working out harder, that way I wasn't too weak when I recovered.

Other than that, everything largely remained the same.

* * *

I awoke Thursday morning hoping that I'd be able to leave base and have fun with some friends, but then I remembered I had surgery next week and shouldn't be drinking. I know it's morning, but I wouldn't mind a stiff drink at all.

Wierzbowski was still anxious about his date with Eliza that night. He approached me after breakfast, and asked, "Do you think I should get her a gift or something?"

"If you want to get her some flowers, yeah," I said. "A small bouquet, not a big one."

"Thanks. You wouldn't mind tagging along with me when I get that, would you? I think it'd do you some good to get out and walk around. You've seemed down the last few days."

"Sure."

We didn't leave until afternoon, mainly because Wierzbowski didn't want to be carrying the flowers around all day. As we sat on the Metro, Wierzbowski glanced at me. "I noticed Vasquez has been taking the news about your surgery pretty well."

"She's really not. I don't know why she's keeping it all in, but . . . I feel she's really upset. She'll say something eventually to me, in private."

"Has that been a problem in your relationship?"

"Yes and no. I know when to pressure her to talk and when not to. It's just in her nature to bottle things up and keep it to herself. I tell her she can talk to me about anything, and I know it's not my fault. It's just . . . her."

"Geez, you two aren't even married, and yet you act like you are."

"We're past the right time where we should've said our vows, but we can't yet." I shrugged. "We'll get there when we're civvies again."

Wierzbowski nodded. "I hope you invite us all to your wedding."

"Oh, I will. I already promised Hudson I'd make him my best man, and I'll be his when he gets married."

"Well, if things work out with me and Eliza, I . . . I wouldn't mind asking you if you'd . . ."

"Sure, I'll be your best man."

"Thanks, Drake."

The train stopped at a point along our route to Crystal City. The platform was crowded, and people looked panicked. Two Marines stepped on board the train, and one of them picked up a radio. "Attention: the D.C. Metro system has been temporarily shut down. We are asking everyone to evacuate the area immediately. All Marines stationed in this area, return to base for briefing ASAP."

I stood up. "What the hell's going on?"

"Hospital by Howard University's been bombed. The place is almost overrun with hostiles. Come on, I'll get you two to your unit."

I looked at Wierzbowski. "You'll have to put your date on hold. Sorry."

We were driven back to base, where everyone was already getting suited up. Even Hicks (who shouldn't be because of his shoulder injury) was shouting orders at everyone.

Vasquez grabbed me to help me get my harness on. Once we had our smartguns hooked up, we were shoved out to a waiting armored vehicle. Hudson and Frost jumped in after us, and I noticed Hudson's face was deathly pale. As Dietrich and Wierzbowski climbed in, Hudson whispered, "I wanna make sure Miranda's OK, man."

"You will," I said. "Don't let it distract you now." I patted Hudson's shoulder.

Looking out a small window, I saw traffic had come to a standstill. The only vehicles moving were military, law enforcement, and medical. I don't know how many units were involved, but I heard two jets scream overheard, followed by several choppers. We stopped, and Apone pushed us out. "_Go, go, move it!_"

I followed Hudson and Wierzbowski as we charged toward the main entrance of the complex. An APC had already crashed down the gates, and the security checkpoints had been abandoned. I noticed the bodies of four campus guards laying on the concrete. Three had clearly been shot, but the fourth had a viscous silver substance flowing from his mouth.

"They're using gas!" I hollered. "Silver flower gas! Put your masks on!"

As Hudson was helping me fit my mask to my face, I spotted three Marines attempting to run in the hospital with flamethrowers. At the top of my lungs, I yelled, "_No! DON'T!_"

A massive _bang_ shattered the glass doors and nearby windows, and sent the Marines flying backwards. Two were screaming, but the screaming was swiftly stifled by the inhaled poison. I became dizzy as I thought about my time in that lab, but I tried to swallow past it.

"No flamethrowers. Got it." Wierzbowski's voice was slightly muffled by his gas mask. He raised his pulse rifle. "What's the plan, Drake?"

"Rain down hell upon them," I growled.

We dashed inside, greeted by a thick cloud of gray gas. We could see a variety of bodies-some had been shot, others suffocated-in the lobby. Gunshots rang out in the hallways, and I heard Marines shouting orders. As we came to a hall leading to the labs, someone ran over to us, pausing occasionally to shoot an AK variant at hostiles behind him.

I recognized the tan trenchcoat, and grabbed Delhoun's shoulder. "Get behind me!"

Delhoun, his face obscured by a gas mask, got behind me, but he refused to stay out of the fight. "Be careful! I let all the Annexers out!" he hollered.

I really wasn't listening to him. I could see the uniforms of the terrorists were similar to the ones I fought in the Bahamas, and I quickly put two and two together.

This was a revenge operation. They knew where I had taken the antidote, and they were trying to keep us from duplicating it. _Good fucking luck, _I thought.

I heard the battle scream of an Annexer, followed by the scream of someone who just had their guts torn out by one.

"Did they take the lab?" I asked.

"For a short time," Delhoun said. "Hornby's been shot."

My heart skipped a beat. "What?"

"I said, Hornby's been shot!"

"Can we rescue him?" Wierzbowski asked.

"I don't think so."

We continued to push our way through the complex. Despite the gas, the Annexers were taking advantage of the ventilation system to launch surprise attacks on hostiles. We would come across their handiwork in the hallways or in laboratories. Sometimes, we found patients and doctors choking to death on the gas. Wierzbowski was dragging as many people as he could outside, and then ran back in for more.

"What about the students?" I asked, thinking of Miranda.

"Most of them are home. All others were evacuated," Delhoun replied. He looked at Hudson. "Your girlfriend's OK."

Hudson released his breath. "Thank God, man."

I hoped that knowledge would allow Hudson to perform better. I'm not sure how long we were plowing through the complex, but I did know the gas masks had a limited amount of time they could function, especially with the air almost completely saturated in poison. In short, it wouldn't be long before we ran out of oxygen.

It had to be just our luck that the emergency tanks scattered around the hospital were contaminated. Wierzbowski was unsteady on his feet, and he started falling behind us. "Drake . . . Hudson . . ."

Slinging his pulse rifle over his shoulder, Hudson grabbed Wierzbowski. "You can make it, man, we're almost out."

"No, we're not," Delhoun said. "We're on the bloody fifth floor!"

"Can't this shit dissipate already?" I growled.

"That takes time."

"You're not helpful."

"I've been saving your asses with extra bullets."

"Hey, I hate to interrupt your marital problems, guys, but we need to get 'Ski outta here before he runs outta oxygen!" Hudson yelled. "I'm starting to run out, too, man."

We ran down several flights of stairs, panting, and starting to feel dizzy. Delhoun had to lean on me as we made our way out of the lobby, through the hole in the wall where the doors once stood. Once we were a safe distance from the building, we ripped our masks off, gasping for breath. The air smelled of smoke, but it was better than what we were just in.

Taking my harness off, I collapsed against an APC. My mind was catching up with my body, and I involuntarily covered my face as I was gripped by panic and flashbacks.

Hudson knelt by me. "Hey, you did great in there, Drake. Everything's OK."

Hicks raced over to us, carrying a spare oxygen tank. "Is he hurt?"

"Just rattled, man," Hudson said.

With no time to chat, Hicks jogged off, searching for people in desperate need of air. Hudson was called over by Apone, leaving me alone with Delhoun and Wierzbowski, who was sitting on the pavement with a fresh tank.

Delhoun sat next to me. His pale face was covered in soot and red marks from where his gas mask had been tightly sealed to his colorless skin. "They shot him first."

"Who?"

"Hornby." Delhoun took a breath, and swallowed. "They shot him first."

"So . . . he's dead?"

"Yes. Good, clean shot through the heart. He was gone before he hit the ground. I was in the back of the lab, taking my weapon out of my locker, and letting all the Annexers out of their enclosures." Delhoun glanced at me. "I know you didn't get along with him too well, but . . . he did care about you. And Hudson."

I had an awful clenching feeling in my chest. "I was pissy with him a lot, but not enough to where I'd want him to die."

Delhoun nodded. "He could get caught up in his work, but he wasn't a bad guy." He looked toward the severely damaged hospital. "I'm glad I got to work with him."

* * *

_Question: What would be different if Hicks had been the one who heard Drake crying in his room?_


	10. Chapter 10

Saying "goodbye" to Hornby was incredibly hard. Much harder than I thought it was going to be. During the wake, I knelt in front of the casket and told him I was no longer bearing that grudge. I forgave him for what he did to Hudson.

I slowly stood up, my hand still resting on the lid of the casket. It was closed because the extent of damage to his body was so bad. I managed to walk away, feeling as though a small weight in my heart had been lifted.

Delhoun and I left the wake long before anyone else. He was taking this hard, but he didn't hesitate to talk to me when we sat down together in a park several blocks away from the funeral home. "I don't believe I told you about some of the things he did. This was after you had left Australia . . . yeah, it was after you left Australia. Anyway, he knew about your situation, you know, how you were recruited from prison and all that."

"You told him?"

Delhoun nodded. "I told him. He did try to be nicer to you, but you kept giving off this vibe that you were upset, which is understandable given . . . what happened with Hudson. He didn't give up, though, on helping you."

"I knew that. He would answer any questions I had about the fucking flower."

"He did more than that. A lot more." Delhoun reached into one of his pockets, pulling out an envelope. "After Christmas, he gave a large sum of money to a veterans' mental health organization, and he gifted his residence in the north suburbs of D.C. to you."

"Wait, what?" I frowned, and felt my heart skip a few beats. "He did what?"

Delhoun handed me the envelope. "He used to own a house for when he was working in this area. Had it for about . . . I'd say five, maybe six years. He explicitly told me not to tell you about it until you got your discharge, because I had told him that you don't have a place to call your own, and he decided that since he's already got another residence down in Charleston, South Carolina, he'd give you this other home for when you're ready to become a civilian again. This is the documentation confirming that the property is yours. No one can touch it without contacting you or any other benefactor, meaning me or Hornby."

"This is a fucking joke, right?"

Delhoun shook his head.

"So, I . . . I have a house now?"

"Yep."

A strangely light and airy feeling had spread throughout my body. I don't believe in a thousand years Delhoun would lie to me. Of course, I don't understand any of the language used in the documents; I just knew it stated that this house was mine.

In the midst of everything that had gone horribly wrong, here was something I could be happy about. I was going to have a place to call home.

* * *

Delhoun still wanted me to keep things quiet until I got all the necessary information to give to the USCM, which I could understand. At the same time, I wondered why Delhoun felt the need to tell me about this now that Hornby was gone. Maybe he felt it'd help with my grief. Or maybe he knew he wouldn't be able to take care of the place on his own, so he needed my help.

What worried me was what the USCM would say about this. After all, I'm still considered a felon to the civilian world. I can completely understand why people would be a little nervous about their neighbor having murder in his history. Hornby did ultimately have the final say on the property. Now that he's dead, it's in his will that house belongs to me. Can that be argued with? I hope not, but given that Delhoun's name is on the paper, too, maybe they can take it from me and give it to him. But, knowing Delhoun, he'd find a way to give it back to me.

My happiness faded when I thought about all this. Having a home was too good to be true. I was going to lose it as fast as I realized I had it. _Clearly, I'm not meant to have peace of mind . . ._

The only person I told was Ranelli. He didn't know any of the legal jargon and couldn't form a hypothesis on what the USCM and any civvie representatives might say. They might not say anything for awhile because it's too soon after Hornby's death to be arguing over this. Simply put, he told me not to worry about it. It was likely everything would be fought through Delhoun.

I managed to put that in the back of my mind when I realized that without Hornby, I couldn't receive my operation. That worried me a lot more. I didn't want the silver pearls in my body for much longer.

Someone had to take over his research. Soon.

* * *

I sighed when I picked up my journal again to find the last couple pages are full of my crap on the supposed house I now own. It's rambling. It's me worrying about things I shouldn't be worried about.

Several days after Hornby's funeral, I received a message from a Doctor Adril regarding my operation. It had been rescheduled and will be taking place in two days, at seven o'clock in the morning. Of course, I was nervous, but at least I wasn't going to have to wait anymore.

Wierzbowski and Hudson offered to take me out to dinner (no drinks, though) for one last meal before I had to starve for twenty-four hours. They both promised to be helpful while I recovered, but that's no guarantee with Hudson involved.

"Did you get to talk to Eliza?" I asked Wierzbowski.

"I did, over the phone. She's not upset about me missing the date. We're going to meet up in a couple days, same place she wanted to go before," Wierzbowski replied.

"I called Miranda," Hudson chirped. "She's OK. We're gonna go to a movie tomorrow night."

"Good." I looked down at my food. "Good to know everyone's still together."

There was silence for a few minutes, until Hudson said, "We should do something tomorrow, man. Drake can't eat, so, he's gonna be real cranky unless we go do something that doesn't involve food." He took a sip of his beer. "A couple parks are open. Could take a long hike."

"A flat one, in the shade," I said.

"We'll see what we can find, man," Hudson replied.

When we got back to base, I took a shower, then went to see Vasquez. She was still in the shower, so I made sure the room door was closed before I took off my shirt and lay on the bed. Ten minutes later, Vasquez came out of the bathroom, and gave me a half-annoyed look. "Drake, what're you doing?"

I grinned. "I have surgery the day after tomorrow, honey. You don't want to have one last night before we don't get to do anything for the next three weeks?"

Vasquez sighed. "Alright, before we do anything, can I just . . . talk to you?"

"Sure."

"You do realize I'm worried about you, right?"

"Yeah. I know. I wish you'd tell me sooner, but you didn't."

"I didn't know how to say it without sounding like I was going to cry."

"Sweetheart, it's just me. It's not like you'd be crying in front of anyone else."

Without a word, Vasquez let me get in bed with her. "I hope what Delhoun told you is true, and that the house Hornby left you is going to be yours. Did he show you any pictures?"

"A couple. It's not a large house, but it's not really small, either. It's got a yard that overlooks the river and the parkway right across from it. It's got a nice big living room and kitchen. Dining room can be adjusted for when it's just us or we got company over. Delhoun said he and Hornby have been making sure things don't fall apart. The most we would have to worry about is dust."

"You'd be helping me with the cleaning." Vasquez kissed me.

"I look forward to it," I purred.

"And you'll be helping me with the yardwork."

"Oh, boy."

We nuzzled and kissed and let things become passionate. Vasquez asked to see my tattoo, and then kissed the area below my ribcage where I would have my incision. I kissed her forehead, and then felt her yank my pants down to my thighs.

* * *

That morning was when my fast began, so instead of going to the mess hall, I went to the gym. I personally don't like exercising on an empty stomach; I feel tired and weak and my body isn't drawing energy from anything. What's the point?

I ended up sitting on one of the lifting benches with my legs drawn up, and sighing, wondering what I was doing. A few minutes later, someone walked into the room, and I turned to see Wierzbowski.

"Thought you might like some company," he said. "A few of the guys were wondering where you were and if you were OK."

"Well, thanks for the concern," I replied, rubbing my face. "I just want to get this done and over with."

"I think we all feel the same way. None of us like seeing you suffer like this. I mean, we know this isn't harming you, but we feel bad watching you mentally beat yourself up."

I nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I certainly hope you feel better when this is over." Wierzbowski glanced around, and then sat on the bench next to me. "You know, I do understand how you're feeling right now. You want food the way I'd want alcohol when I started recovering. I know Hudson and I are taking you somewhere to just walk around and try not to think about anything, but it'll take more than that."

"It's only for a day. I'll be fine."

Wierzbowski gave a weak smile. "I can guarantee you'll be unbearably cranky in a few hours."

He wasn't wrong. While I wasn't exactly unbearable to be around, I noticed I was becoming anxious. Not about the surgery, but about everything else. My mind was constantly going places I didn't want it to go, and I was worried it would eventually rouse my trauma from whatever dark little place it was hiding in my brain.

Hudson and Wierzbowski took that all as a sign we needed to leave the base and make our way to the trail we'd be hiking. We were reaching the tail-end of morning rush hour, so the scents of coffee and fast food were still strong. I salivated when someone walked on the Metro with a bacon sandwich.

"Stop looking at it, man," Hudson whispered. "Don't look at it." He gently took my head, and made me look at my boots. When I looked back up, he pinched me.

I turned to punch him, but Wierzbowski reached over to grab my arm. "If you don't want him pinching you, don't look at the Goddamn sandwich."

I grunted at him before looking at the floor.

We ended up having to take a taxi to the park once we got off the Metro. I was now less anxious and gradually getting more cranky. Feeling the sun on my back was nice, though.

The trail was on a hillside overlooking the Chesapeake Bay. The sky above us was blue, but way, way off in the distance, on the water, was a wall of gray clouds. "I don't remember anything about a storm coming in, do you?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Supposed to hit us later this afternoon, man," Hudson replied. "Like, six o'clock or something." He looked over his shoulder at me. "You doing OK back there, Drake?"

"Piss off," I muttered.

Hudson gave me a thumbs-up.

As we kept walking, we spotted someone familiar jogging in the opposite direction. She stopped when she saw us, and waved. "Good morning, guys!"

"Hey, Eliza," Wierzbowski said. "Didn't expect to see you out here."

"Good things often come unexpectedly." Eliza walked up to him, opening her arms for a hug. "How're you, 'Ski?"

"I'm . . . fine . . ." Wierzbowski was hesitant on hugging her, and that kinda set me off.

"_Hug her!_" I shouted, clenching my fists.

Everyone looked at me like I was nuts.

Eliza glanced at Wierzbowski. "Is he OK?"

"Oh, he's just hungry," Hudson said.

"Well, did you have breakfast? That's kind of important."

"He's having surgery tomorrow, so he has to fast today," Wierzbowski said.

"Oh, no, what's wrong?"

"Everything," I replied.

Wierzbowski did his best to explain what was going on. No matter which way you spin it, telling someone that I have alien plant waste inside of me will make them grimace, and Eliza was no exception. She did, however, feel bad for me, and offered to hug me to make me feel better. Honestly, I wasn't in a hugging mood, but I let this slide.

She shouldn't be hugging me; she should be hugging Wierzbowski.

Anyways, Eliza offered to accompany us on the rest of our walk. She walked alongside Wierzbowski, while Hudson was behind them, reading the map. I was behind everyone, trying not to let my grumpiness get the best of me.

I'm guessing Wierzbowski had said everything he needed to say about the bombing and why he didn't make it to their original date, because they didn't say a word about it today. As we came to an old bridge over a creek feeding into the Potomac River, Eliza took Wierzbowski's hand, squeezing it tightly as we crossed. She really doesn't seem like someone who's easily frightened by stuff like this; I think she just wanted Wierzbowski to take a hint and stop being so nervous when it came to affection.

Well, the big guy's not stupid, so, he took the hint. He kept holding Eliza's hand even after we got off the bridge.

The trail continued through a long tunnel of trees, until sending us back onto another hill overlooking the water. Everything was blooming. Bees were everywhere, making Hudson nervous even though he's not allergic to them. The bees were just making me think of honey, and my mouth watered as I thought about dipping a big spoon in a jar and licking it.

"Doesn't this place look like it came right out of a fantasy movie?" Eliza asked.

"I guess so," Wierzbowski replied.

"Look, there're some robin eggs in this nest here."

_Eggs . . . I would give anything to have some eggs right now,_ I thought. _Fried, scrambled, boiled, poached, deviled, in a sandwich, egg salad. _

As we exited the woods and returned to the bay, Hudson looked at his watch. "It's almost eleven-thirty, man," he said. "We're making good time."

The path sloped downward to the beach. I started thinking about my short visit to the Bahamas, about Casey. I gave a sad sigh, knowing I probably wasn't going to see him ever again. Although, maybe I would, if I ended up having to stay in the Marines longer, and he enlisted when he came of age. He had eight years left till that, and I have four-and-a-half until my contract is up. It could work out if I had to stay in another five or so years.

That's _if_ he decides to enlist. I feel like he will, though.

While everyone else got lunch from a small bar near the beach, I was sitting on a bench some distance away. I could smell the food and hear everyone talking and laughing. My anger and frustration and crankiness had given way to exhaustion and depression. I had no energy, period. I knew I had snapped at my own friends and it wasn't right of me to do so. _It's because I'm selfish. All I care about are my own needs._

As I gazed out at the bay, I heard someone approaching from my right. I turned to see Eliza walking over with a plastic cup of water. "Hey," she said. "I brought you something, if you want it. You are allowed to have water, you know." She sat next to me. "I also noticed you look lonely."

"I'm not lonely. I just . . . I'm sorry about . . . yelling at Wierzbowski and not being very pleasant today."

"Well, I also want to apologize for what I said at the bowling alley, about how you look mean and scary. That really wasn't something I should've said."

"Honestly, I don't give a rat's ass. I am mean, and I am scary, so, you weren't wrong."

"That was before 'Ski told me about your little friend."

"What?"

Eliza poked my forehead. "Your problem. If I had known about that, I wouldn't have said that about you."

"You don't have to be nice to me just because I have PTSD. That's the last thing I want anyone to do."

"Fine. What if . . . I'm nice to you because you seem like a good person and you're my boyfriend's closest friend?"

"I'm far from a good person."

"A _decent_ person."

"I can live with that." I looked down at the cup of water, and drank. A refreshing coolness pulsated through my body. "Wierzbowski's not being all shy over there, is he?"

"He's getting better. I think he really wishes it was just the two of us."

"He told me he looks forward to a date where it's just you and him. I can't blame him. Plus, it's a step in the right direction for your relationship; a one-on-one is where he functions best. You'll really get to know him and he'll be more inclined to talk to you, and . . . be a bit more affectionate toward you." I smirked. "Come on, you want a guy like him to be affectionate with you. He'll keep you warm in the winter and will provide you with shade in the summer."

That got a bigger smile out of Eliza, but it faded a little. "I dunno, I'm . . . really not sure what to do if something happens and he . . . goes back to drinking."

I shook my head. "I don't think that'll happen. Not unless you upset him-"

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"If you outright lie to him or make him feel like he's not good for anything, then you really fucked up. I don't think you have to worry about him drinking. Trust me. I know the guy."

Eliza nodded, looking at me from the corner of her eye. "Thanks, Drake."

* * *

I'm not lying when I say that my talk with Eliza made me feel a little better. She really did try to get along with both me and Hudson, which I can understand given that we're close to Wierzbowski.

None of this stopped me from realizing the day was winding down, and I was getting closer and closer to my operation. My body was torn between feeling anxious and feeling hungry.

Around four, Hudson left us because of his date with Miranda, so it was just Wierzbowski, Eliza, and me taking another train back to Eliza's home stop. She thanked us for the day, shook my hand, and then paused in front of Wierzbowski. He opened his arms a little, letting her hug him, and he hugged her back.

A very long minute passed. I then heard Eliza whisper, "I'd like to give you a kiss, but I can't reach."

Without saying a word, Wierzbowski gently lifted her so she could kiss his cheek. He blushed a little, and decided to hold onto Eliza a little longer. "You're not afraid of heights, are you?" he asked.

"No, not at all. But, I do need to go because I've got work in the morning. Plus, we're going out tomorrow night, remember? We'll see each other again." She put her arms around his neck and kissed him again before he put her down. "Have a good night, 'Ski."

"You . . . have a good night, too, Eliza." Wierzbowski watched her board the Metro, and continued watching until the train had disappeared from view.

When we returned to base, Wierzbowski joined the others for dinner, and I took a shower. Afterwards, I went to the lounge, and lay sprawled out on the couch, staring at a baseball game on TV. Ten minutes later, Hicks came in, and sat on the couch across from me. "Hey, Drake."

"What?" I mumbled.

"Just thought you probably don't want to be alone right now."

"I'm not sure what I want right now. Other than food."

Hicks smirked a little. "Hey, I promise, as soon as the doctors say you can eat, I'll take you wherever you want and let you order whatever you want. You didn't act like Hudson all day, did you?"

"Oh, God, no. I kept all my whining inside. He would've been whining every passing second."

"That's true."

"I did snap at people, but that was pretty much it."

"Ah. So, you didn't keep it all in."

"Was that wrong?"

"Not exactly. Did you apologize?"

"Eventually, yeah. It was just to Wierzbowski and his girlfriend."

Hicks paused. "Wierzbowski's got a girlfriend now? How about that."

"She's really nice. Hope you'll get to meet her soon."

Hicks nodded. "Yeah. Wierzbowski needs a really nice girl in his life. Is she just as shy as he is?"

"No. Just the opposite, actually, but she's understanding him."

"Good."

We talked until more people began filing into the lounge, and took the conversation to my room. I was glad to see Hicks was in a better mood, but I also hoped he wasn't concealing things just to make sure I was content until my surgery.

* * *

I had to be up before everyone else so I could get to the hospital. Hicks and Apone were escorting me, and Wierzbowski, Hudson, and Vasquez wanted to accompany them. Reluctantly, they were allowed to join us.

When we arrived, I was taken to a room to meet Doctor Adril, who was apparently taking over a good chunk of Hornby's work. She looked like the no-nonsense type, and spared all pleasantries. Basically, she told me the same thing Hicks told me last week about what the procedure would be and how I had to care for my incision afterward. That was it; there was no exchange of names or "how're you doing" or shit like that.

I was laid on a bed and given an injection to start knocking me out, and my friends could come over and wish me luck. Wierzbowski squeezed my hand, Hudson patted my head, and Vasquez simply touched my shoulder. Everything was starting to fade as I was wheeled into dark room, and the last thing I saw, consciously, was a mask being fit to my face.

* * *

_Question: What would have happened if Drake, Wierzbowski, and Hudson had run into Carlisle instead of Eliza?_


	11. Chapter 11

The first sensation I felt when I went to sleep was a floating one. I felt like I was upside-down, slowly falling through the blackness.

Oh, wait, not blackness.

I opened my eyes to find myself curled in the fetal position, hugging my knees to my chest, as I half-hovered, half-fell through a clear blue sky. I stretched my neck to look down, seeing the glittering skyscrapers of a city below. It was warm and nothing short of peaceful.

I uncurled my body, wondering if I could just fly. In a way, I could, but I was still falling down. I was going so slow that I wasn't scared. I was able to lay on my back, simply enjoy this feeling.

Giving a silent, contented sigh, I moved back on my head, pretending to dive. I flew downward a little faster, going past the highest windows of the skyscrapers. I could see people, but I didn't know if they could see me. I kept falling and falling until I angled myself above the concrete, and landed softly. It wasn't humid or uncomfortable out, perfect for just walking around.

As I came to the end of a street, a car pulled up alongside it. A man I didn't recognize rolled down the window and said he was going to take me back to my apartment. I didn't hesitate, and got in the car.

I don't remember every detail, but I know my apartment took up the entire floor of one skyscraper, and offered a stunning view of the beach. It was fancy and comfortable at the same time. I guess I lived alone, because there was no sign of a second person living there. I sat in front of the large window, my forehead against the cool glass, sighing with contentment.

I suddenly felt as though someone had dug a knife in my chest. They were twisting and turning it, then it moved downward. The base of my chest was consumed with sheer agony. I hugged myself, groaning as it got worse. My arms began to feel wet, and I pulled them away to reveal a massive deep cut running across the middle of my torso. Poking through that cut was a transparent membrane, bulging with silver pearls.

The dream stopped there. The next thing I heard were muffled voices and the familiar, steady beeping of a heartrate monitor. My senses were coming back slowly, but then faded into nothingness again.

* * *

My senses returned once again to the sound of hospital machinery and the voices of people I know. I wanted to perk up when I heard Wierzbowski, but my body just couldn't do it.

". . . He's going to feel awful when he comes around. Don't be so rough, Hudson," Wierzbowski was saying.

I tried to moan something, but a deeper desire to just sleep claimed me before I got any words out.

The third time I woke up, I managed to stay up. I was propped somewhat upright, and there was a thick bandage under my flimsy gown. As my senses came back, I noticed a curtain to my right, a window to my left, and Wierzbowski, Hudson, and Vasquez sitting in chairs across from me. Hicks was leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. A small lamp was on the desk next to the curtain, along with a chart one of the nurses left.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Hicks said, grinning. "How're you feeling?"

I could get a grunt out, but my brain was still too foggy for me to form a proper sentence.

A few minutes later, Miranda appeared from behind the curtain, smiling. "Hi, Mark." She looked at the others. "Did he just wake up?"

"He's been going in and out for the last hour, hour-and-a-half," Hicks said.

"I'd say another half-hour and he should come around a little more fully." She looked at me. "By the way, thank you for being an interesting first surgery for me. You were dreaming at some point. That's rare. Feel better, Mark. I'll be back soon." Miranda gave Hudson a kiss before leaving.

I had regained feeling in most of my body. Once I did, I wanted to sit up, but Hicks gently nudged me back.

"Just rest. Don't wanna open that incision," he said.

I didn't have the energy to argue with him.

Over a half-hour later, I was starting to feel like I could process my thoughts and talk to people, even though I was exhausted. Frankly, I didn't want to do a lot of talking, and with Hudson around, I can guarantee I wasn't doing a lot of talking.

I did want to have some time with everyone individually, and I started with Hicks. He told me he was going to talk to Carlisle when I got out of the hospital, because he wanted me to be with them when they talked.

"There's a part of me that says breaking up with her would be a good idea. At the same time . . . why? That'd be running away, and I have to stop running away," Hicks said.

"Tell her that. I've told you being honest is the best thing to do, right?" I couldn't remember.

"You did."

"Are you worried about what she might say?"

"Sorta."

"Well, at least you're going to be honest with her, and yourself."

"It's gonna be a few days. Don't strain yourself thinking about it, OK?" Hicks looked out the window. "Want me to go get Wierzbowski?"

"There's nothing else you feel like saying?"

"Nothing I can think of." Hicks began walking away. "I'm sorry, Drake."

Wierzbowski was watching Hicks leave as he entered the room. He shrugged before grabbing a chair and sitting next to me. "You feeling alright?"

"I feel like crap," I said. "That's the simplest way I can put it."

"You were in there a little over three hours. They've got the pearls, if you want to see them."

"If they let me destroy them, sure."

Wierzbowski shook his head. "I don't think they'll let you do that. Hudson and Vasquez and I didn't stay here the whole time. We all went to a café down the road here for some coffee, and that was it. None of us could really eat anything because of how worried we were about you. Hudson said something along the lines of, 'I trust Miranda'll take good care of Drake.'"

I weakly smirked. "I don't think it's a coincidence her first operation was on me. Next time I see her, I'll tell her she did a good job keeping me alive." A slight wave of exhaustion was coming over me. "Did they say when I can eat?"

"Not for another five hours. You can have some water, though, if your stomach can handle it."

I gave an annoyed sigh, but I'll admit I don't think my body was ready for any kind of solid food yet. "What about going back to base?"

"You'll be staying overnight for observation. We'll come and see you as soon as we can in the morning, I promise."

I nodded, knowing damn well I didn't want to stay here overnight.

* * *

Everyone was told to leave me sometime in the afternoon, and I was completely alone for the rest of the day. I know someone was put in the bed next to mine, but I requested the curtain remain closed. Despite that, this guy's entire family had crowded into the room, leaving me with no quiet to speak of. At least Hicks had brought me my journals.

The nurse wanted me to get some sleep, so she ushered the big family reunion out the door, and then approached me. "Is there anything you'd like, sir?"

"No, thanks," I said.

The nurse gave me a small smile before turning out the lights for the night. I tried to get myself comfortable, hoping to just go to sleep and wake up to the faces of the people I care about.

Yeah, if you've been following along this whole time, you know that wishing for a peaceful sleep is too much for me. When I need it most, I don't get it.

The explosion of the silver flower toxin was echoing in my mind, both from the lab and the attack on the university hospital. I was in the middle of it, breathing in heat and toxic smoke, trying to scream for help. I could see Wierzbowski running toward me, his hand reached out to grab me. There was another explosion, and he was sent backwards into the thick smoke.

Hudson was coming from the other direction, but someone shot him in the chest. He collapsed, blood gushing from the wound.

My throat was closing up as I tried to call him. He was writhing in pain as both blood and a runny silver fluid spouted from his chest.

I abruptly sat upright in bed, gasping for breath. A spark of pain shot through my torso, and I involuntarily leaned back down, covering my face. I sobbed, moaning, "Hudson . . . Wierzbowski . . . Please, help me . . ."

It's safe to assume I spent the rest of the night crying. I couldn't go back to sleep; I was too scared. Worse yet, I tried to conceal it from the nurse when she came back in the morning. I quickly dried my tears, and told her I was fine. All I wanted was to see my teammates. Even though I was starving, I didn't want anything to eat.

The first person to visit me that morning was, to my surprise, Doctor Ranelli. You would not believe how relieved I was to see him.

"I'm guessing you didn't have a very restful night, judging by the look on your face," Ranelli said.

"Not in the slightest," I replied, rubbing my face.

"Well, when the others came home and informed me you'd be staying overnight, I had a feeling you'd be wholly against the idea due to your nightmares."

I nodded.

"If there was anything I could do, I'd do it, but know that the doctors aren't keeping you here to torture you. Anyone who has major surgery is usually kept for a few days for observation. You need to inform them of your condition, that way they have someone on standby if you need anything. Why didn't you tell anyone last night?"

"I was scared. Plus, I don't know anyone here. I don't trust anyone here-"

"Push past that. You know your PTSD better than anyone. You know what happens when you have no one around to help you. Don't make yourself suffer like that. It's not like they're going to send you some idiot who doesn't know what they're dealing with."

"Why can't I push past it?"

"You can. Drake, I'm not telling any of the doctors here what's going on with you. You need to do that for yourself, do you understand? Being scared of what someone might say means letting your trauma control you, and you don't want it to control you."

I took a breath, an overwhelming feeling of weakness washing over me.

"I think, first, you need to get some sustenance in you, and, perhaps, you can inform a nurse about your condition with one of your close friends around-"

"Good morning, man!" Hudson barged into the room, a large vase with flowers (and water dripping everywhere) and a card in one hand, and a big box of donuts in the other. He put the vase on the desk, ruining every paper in the nurse's clipboard, and sat in a chair with the donuts in his lap. "Feeling better?"

I shook my head. "I'm awake, but I still feel like I need more sleep."

"You didn't get any sleep last . . . ohhh . . ." Hudson switched his gaze between me and Ranelli. "Geez, man, I'm sorry. Y'know, if you gotta stay another night, I can-"

"Drake has to inform the doctors on his own," Ranelli said.

Hudson frowned. "OK, I'll . . . I'll stay out of it."

"Can you be with me when I tell them?" I asked.

Now Hudson's eyes brightened. "Sure, man, I'll be with you." He looked down at the box of donuts. "Did they say you could eat yet?"

"No."

Hudson closed the box. "Then I probably shouldn't be eating in front of you, man."

"I don't care, Hudson, stuff your face if you want." I took the card from the desk, and smiled when I saw it was a get-well card signed by the rest of the unit. Of course, instead of sweet things like "hope you feel better," there were things like, "come back soon so we can kick some ass," and "get well, asshole" written by some of the guys. "Thanks for the card," I said.

"Yeah. Wierzbowski picked it out," Hudson replied, cramming a powdered-sugar donut, oozing with rich crème, into his mouth.

I took back what I said about not caring that Hudson ate in front of me. When someone finally came in to check on me, I demanded to know when I could have solid food. The nurse said she'd bring me something bland and relatively easy to digest. I said I didn't give a rat's ass how easy it was to digest.

"I also want to know when I can go back to my unit," I said when I was given a small bowl of oatmeal.

"Doctor Adril wants to talk to you first," the nurse replied. "She said she'd be down in a half-hour."

She was down a bit sooner than that. As she came from behind the curtain, she held out a small jar. In that jar were eleven silver pearls.

"I can't believe those little bastards were inside me," I said. "Can I chuck them under a steamroller?"

"No. They're being kept for research," Adril replied. "You should be legitimately clean now, Private."

"Well, thanks. Now what? Can I go?"

"Not yet. Tomorrow morning, you should be released."

* * *

Yeah, Adril isn't Hornby. I'm hoping I don't have to deal with her again. I'm hoping this is it with the silver flower.

To sum things up, I told Miranda that I needed someone on standby during the night for my bad dreams. I'm just glad she already knew, and understood. And that she had to do all the talking.

The good news is that I actually slept through the night, with no need to call someone. I guess I got lucky.

In the morning, I was given a long list of things I couldn't do because of my incision. In short, that list was basically anything physical, and then I felt like I got punched in the gut because the damn thing was actually _five_ inches instead of four; the membranous sac the pearls were in had to be taken out, too, and because it has the consistency of egg whites, it moved fairly easily, so scooping it out was a challenge.

I just wanted to go back to base. After listening to the doctors, and receiving a bottle of pain pills, Hicks and Wierzbowski helped me leave the hospital, making sure I kept my torso mostly straight. I felt sick when I stood up, and continued to feel that way the entire trip back. I didn't think I was going to throw up because I had close to nothing in my stomach. Well, "close to nothing" is still "something," (that being plain-as-hell oatmeal) so . . . I was wrong, and I can't think of anything more embarrassing then vomiting on a Metro train. People were moving away and probably assuming I was a drunk being helped home by a couple of friends. Lovely.

Hicks was stern when he ordered me to just stay in bed the whole day, and I guess I was OK with that for a few hours. I felt like I could actually get some sleep.

When I next awoke, I wanted to get up and walk around a little bit. I still felt nauseated, and I knew there were a lot of nutrients my body was lacking after over _sixty hours_ of nothing. The bland stuff I was given at the hospital wasn't doing the trick at all.

I knocked on Hudson's door. He glanced at me from his bed, and smirked. "Hey, man, good to see you up and moving."

"I need fresh air," I said. "Can we take a walk?"

"Sure." Hudson put his book on his nightstand, and grabbed his cap before leaving the room. "You sure you're feeling OK?"

I shook my head.

"Then why're we walking?"

"I don't know."

Hudson studied my face for a minute. "Tell you what, I'll take you out to lunch, man. I feel like that's what you want, am I right?"

I nodded.

Hudson leaned in to whisper. "Why don't you say something, man? No one's gonna get mad if you tell 'em how you're really feeling."

"Because I know everyone's gonna say 'no.'"

"That's why you go to me. That's what friends are for, man." He patted my shoulder before walking me down to the base's Metro stop. "Plus, I got the feeling you just wanna vent and need someone to listen."

"How did you know?"

Hudson shrugged. "I dunno. You don't do a good job concealing some of your emotions, man."

* * *

He's not wrong. I knew for damn sure I was not going to feel better and comprehend my thoughts until I got some real food in me. I knew my subconscious was probably backed up with thoughts regarding the silver flower and the pearls and my trauma and all that other fun shit, but it wasn't going to emerge until I was no longer concerned with my physical health.

Hudson waited for me to have a drink before saying anything to me when we sat in the outdoor area of a diner overlooking the bay. "Hey, you got some color coming back, man," he said after I gulped down a glass of orange juice.

"I feel human again," I replied.

"Good." Hudson folded his arms on the table. "So, what's on your mind?"

I took a breath. "I dunno. I'm just glad to not be stuck in the hospital anymore."

"Ah, so, you looking miserable had more to do with the fact that you'd been denied food for the last three days. I can understand that, man."

"Were you expecting me to actually vent about something?"

"Not really. I think getting outta base was more important." Hudson leaned back in his chair, stretching while looking at the bay. "I'll bet you feel a lot better now that those pearls are out. You don't have to be bothered by it anymore."

"The trauma's still there." Everything came flooding back. "The night after my operation, I had . . . another nightmare."

"I know that. I didn't say it was gonna make the trauma go away, man. But, you're hoping this is a step in the right direction."

"It doesn't make any difference. I still have nightmares. I'm still afraid of being put in a place where I could suffer a flashback. I'm still scared to death of the flower. I still . . . I still hate myself for everything that's happened in the past. I'm just . . . Doctor Ranelli told me to think of this as a cleansing, and . . . instead of doing that, I bitched and moaned about everything I've got to go through, and didn't stop to think about how much good this would do for me. I _failed_, Hudson. I failed to push myself. I failed to be just a little more positive."

"Drake, you don't have to be positive if you really don't feel like it, man." Hudson reached over to gently squeeze my arm. "It's over now, though, and your job at the moment is to rest and heal."

* * *

_Question: Do you think Hudson is relating to Drake's experience because of what he went through in "Dead Air?"_


	12. Chapter 12

I felt a thousand times better after having a full meal. I was still sluggish and sore, but at least I was less irritable, which is better for everyone. I felt like I could (somewhat) deal with this now. The only thing I really needed was some alcohol and maybe I'd be able to better put up with everything, but even Hudson was enforcing the doctors' orders of no drinking for the next week or so.

This stinks.

When we returned to base, Hudson pulled Wierzbowski from the gym and the three of us sat in the courtyard with bottles of off-brand iced coffee from the lounge vending machine, and a deck of cards.

"You and Eliza went out last night, right?" I asked.

"Yeah," Wierzbowski replied. "Very nice place outside of Crystal City. Personally, I'm starting to hope we get sent to Greece next time we're stationed in Europe."

"Hicks has been to Santorini. I bet he can tell you about it," I said. "Was that it?"

"No. We had dinner, talked, and then she took me across the street to this little ice cream parlor where you build your own dessert before paying for it. Basically, they add up the cost of the type of ice cream, the cone, and the toppings. Most items were around fifty cents, so, it wasn't bad."

"And here's Hudson with a hundred-dollar ice cream cone," I snorted.

Hudson smirked. "I'm not that bad, man, come on."

"Anyway, the whole time, I was really trying to . . . do everything you said, Drake, about what to do on the second date. I kinda let Eliza run the conversations, because I was a little nervous and didn't know what to say or do."

"Oh, no, you weren't scared of touching her, were you?" I said.

"No, actually, we . . . did a lot of hand-holding. It was the kissing that made me nervous I was gonna do something wrong. You know, she kisses me, but . . . I haven't kissed her yet."

"Not even on the cheek?"

Wierzbowski shook his head.

"You better do that on your third date, or you're fucked."

"No, he won't get any fucking if he messes up, man," Hudson said, giggling.

Wierzbowski sighed. "I'm comfortable with hugging now. Is that an accomplishment?"

"Are you the one initiating the hug?"

"I did last night. She's just so small, I'm afraid of hurting her. I was, you know, being as gentle as possible when I put my arms around her back, and she put her head on my chest. I'm thinking, 'Oh, God, she's going to hear and feel just how fast my heart is racing. She's going to know how nervous I am.' I was very still, because I felt like the next breath I was going to take would emphasize my anxiety, and I could feel her squeezing me. Then, she looks up and says, 'Remember to breathe, 'Ski.' I was honest; I said, 'I'm a bit anxious right now. I didn't disappoint you today, did I?' She laughed and replied, 'I knew you were nervous. It's OK. You didn't do anything wrong.' So, she wants me to lift her up so she can kiss my cheek and put her head on my shoulder. I've done that before, and as she hung onto me, I thought, 'I don't want to lose this chance to just be happy, to have someone around who enjoys my company.' I hugged her back, and . . . it was a very long goodbye. I've been thinking about her all day."

I gave a lopsided grin. "You really do like her."

Wierzbowski nodded, blushing a little.

"You got a third date planned?"

"Saturday night. She didn't say exactly what we're doing, but she wants me to take a bus out to a stop in the D.C. suburbs. The only hint I was given is that we're going to a farm."

Hudson looked at me, smirking. I took a sip of my iced coffee, smirking as well. "Sounds like she wants to have an adventure with you," I said. "That's good."

"Also sounds like she's the type that wants to have her first real kiss under the moon or something like that," Hudson added.

"Miranda does romance-movie stuff with you all the time."

"We kissed in the rain _once_, man."

"Doesn't she want to take a picture with you in a pumpkin patch later this year?"

"That's for her parents."

"You haven't even met her parents."

"I'm going to when she graduates in a couple months, man. And she says they look forward to meeting me."

I rolled my eyes. "Then they see you and watch you for the first time and immediately write you off as wholly unsuitable."

Hudson glared at me. "Fuck you, Drake. Just because you and Vasquez don't have to worry about each other's families, doesn't mean you can-"

"That's enough," Wierzbowski said, sighing. "Anyway, I think this is going to work out for me. I know I don't really show it, but I'm a lot happier than I was just a few weeks ago."

I gave him a genuine smile. "That's good, Wierzbowski. Now, if only some of your happiness could rub off on me."

Hudson snorted. "Maybe if you sniffed his sweat stains when you do laundry, you'll contract some of his happiness, man."

"I'm not sniffing anyone's sweat stains, especially yours," I replied.

"I already know you and Vasquez sniff each other's clothes."

"Damn, that reminds me I need to go to the mall soon and pick up some sexy body wash with pheromones."

Hudson whistled, and playfully nudged me. "At least all I need to get Miranda's attention is my smile, man. I don't need pheromone body wash."

"That's because your relationship is just starting out. Wait till you hit the four-year mark, and you're still not married. Sometimes, you need to put a little more effort into staying in love."

Wierzbowski resisted a grin. "You two're absolutely bonkers sometimes."

Hudson gave a wide smile. "We love you, too, man."

* * *

"Can someone please explain to me why these raviolis have more spinach than cheese in them?" I used my fork to prod at the knock-off whole-wheat pasta.

"Can someone please explain to me why Drake isn't eating his dinner after starving for two-and-a-half days?" Apone responded, sarcastically. He earned himself some giggles and snickers around the table.

"Good one, Sarge," Frost said.

"Kiss my ass," I muttered.

"Knock it off," Hicks said, not looking up from his tray. "Drake, eat. You need to build your strength back up."

"Giving me all this fiber right off the bat is just gonna-"

"If you start arguing with me, you're gonna be held here on base till the doctor says you can take your fucking bandage off. Eat your food, stop bitching, and act your age. Getting real sick of this, and that goes for all of you." Hicks settled his gaze on Hudson, but sighed when he saw Hudson was actually enjoying his food.

Hudson leaned over to say to me. "Put some garlic salt on them, man, it helps."

There was silence, until Vasquez said, "Nice to see you're feeling good enough to complain, Drake. We all missed that."

I gave her a dirty look.

Again, more silence. Hicks took a sip of his water before looking at me. "Tomorrow, I want you to come with me to a park downtown. We're gonna meet with Paige. You know why."

I nodded a little.

"We're gonna leave around nine, so, be ready."

I glanced around the table. No one was looking in our direction, aside from Wierzbowski and maybe Hudson. I think everyone had an idea of what was going on, and that's why no one said anything to me after dinner.

That night was going to be my first back from the hospital, which meant I had to go over the packet I was given on protecting my incision while in the shower and sleeping. I was given a waterproof brace that I had to put over my bandage, and keep on while sleeping.

According to the instructions, the brace had to be on as tight as possible. It was relatively thin and stretchy, so I had no problem wrapping it around my bandage. I pulled it around until it was slightly uncomfortable, and then pressed it against the Velcro.

It was kinda hard to breathe with this thing, but I couldn't go bitch about it; everyone was going to tell me to just follow the instructions and deal with it. I didn't think much about it until I was in the shower. A normal person wouldn't be too bothered by the constrictiveness of the brace, but I was becoming more and more aware of the tightness around my chest . . .

Next thing you know, I'm on the floor of the shower, screaming. I was trying to claw the brace off, but I kinda forgot then when it's wet, it doesn't really let you take it off, so I was in full-blown panic mode.

Someone dragged me out of the shower, putting me against the wall while covering me with a towel. A second towel was wrapped loosely around my chest.

"Get it off, please!" I wailed.

"Just relax, I have to let it dry first," Wierzbowski replied. "Calm down, I'm right here. It's alright. It'll be off soon, I promise."

It took a minute or two for me to return to reality. I tried taking a deep breath, but couldn't. Finally, I heard the sound of the Velcro coming apart, and Wierzbowski was holding the brace.

"It's off. Breathe."

I could take a full breath. Gradually, I began to relax, but I was shivering from the panicked shock.

"Drake?"

I managed to look Wierzbowski in the eye, but then immediately squeezed my eyes shut when tears started to flow.

I'm not sure how long it took for me to recover somewhat, but Wierzbowski stayed the whole time, keeping me sane. Eventually, I said, "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be sorry," Wierzbowski replied. "You're fine. Just . . . stay put, I'm gonna go get Ranelli." He jogged out of my room. I was trying to tie my towel around my waist when he returned with Ranelli, explaining what happened.

"You didn't hurt yourself on accident, did you?" Ranelli asked, helping me stand.

"No. I don't think so." I looked down at myself, not seeing any bruises. I took another deep breath. "I should've just loosened the brace a little."

"The important thing is that you're OK," Ranelli said. "Don't think too hard on this. It was an accident, a miscalculation on your part. Don't let it overwhelm you. Just put the brace back on, and don't make it so tight this time."

I nodded, and looked at Wierzbowski. "Can you stay in the room until I'm done in the shower?"

"Sure," Wierzbowski replied.

It took me around fifteen minutes to finish up my shower. Afterwards, I got dressed, and went out to see Wierzbowski sitting on my bed, doing nothing. "Thanks for staying," I said.

He nodded, looking in my direction. "You feeling better?"

"Rattled, but not . . . not panicky anymore." I sat next to him, sighing. "I should've sensed that was going to happen the minute I read on the paper that the stupid thing needs to be as tight as possible. I should've . . . I dunno anymore."

"You thought it wasn't going to bother you that much."

"Yeah. God, how am I that stupid?"

"Drake, that doesn't mean you're stupid. You're gaining more confidence in yourself." Wierzbowski smiled. "That's good. Soon, you'll be at the point where you can look your fears in the eye, and spit in it."

"What's the difference between confidence and stupid?"

"Stupid would be purposefully running into a garden full of silver flowers with no gas mask. Confidence is believing you can walk past the garden without panicking."

* * *

The next morning, I went with Hicks downtown to a park where he and Carlisle agreed to meet up and talk. They hugged, kissed, and sat on a blanket in the wet grass with thermoses of coffee and granola bars. Carlisle looked at me, and said, "Would you like one, Drake?"

"Yes." I took a bar from the center of the blanket. "Thank you."

Hicks glanced around, appearing relaxed with the refreshing spring air combined with the city ambience. He took a breath before looking at Carlisle. "I know I've had a lot of time to just think about this, but I still don't know what to do. I don't believe for a second that it's your fault I . . . relapsed."

"Well, Dwayne, I think it is my fault. I didn't deliberately make you think about Paulson, but just the fact that I disappeared for four years without building and improving our relationship and now the only period in your life you associate me with is . . . that awful time." Carlisle shrugged. "I'm not mad, but . . . I didn't anticipate this at all. Plus, I don't know what to do, either."

"The one thing I do know is that I don't want to deal with this anymore. I've grown to love my unit as family, and to lash out at them and feel like they're not good enough for me is terrible. Of course, I know now that they're perfect. I tell them that every single day, but when that . . . that side of me that wants everything to be just right and believes the only way to make them a stellar unit is to grind on them day in and day out . . . suddenly, I hate them. It's awful. I don't want to turn on them like that anymore. And, I don't want to deal with those periods of depression anymore. When I'm sitting in my room, feeling like I'm a failure and it's all my fault things go wrong, I'm not helping my teammates." Hicks gestured to me. "Drake needs help because of his PTSD. Wierzbowski's recovering from alcoholism. If I'm not there for them, what's gonna happen? You're a corporal, too, now, right? You do understand that, correct?"

Carlisle nodded. "My unit doesn't have as nearly as many . . . issues as yours, but I do understand the need to be a big brother or big sister figure for your people to look up to. You're the bridge between them and your sergeant. You help them with both training and personal problems."

"So, you get what I'm saying. Basically . . . I don't think breaking up would help. I want to keep trying. I don't think just leaving would allow for a more positive experience to flourish."

"You're right. But, how do we stop your subconscious from prodding at everything that happened in the past?"

Hicks paused, and looked up at the patchy sky. "I guess we should make better memories. Create more positive associations with each other."

A small smile crossed Carlisle's face. "I like that idea. We should try it." She glanced at me, and tried to hide a laugh. "Drake, I think you made a friend."

It took me a moment to notice the butterfly perched delicately on my forehead. I was torn between smirking and sighing, so I did both. Overall, I was glad the talk didn't end in fighting, but I was also hoping that they'd be able to keep up their plan to instill happier memories in each other.

When we stood up to part ways for the day, Hicks opened his arms to give Carlisle a hug. He held her somewhat protectively, his head gently rested on top of hers. He patted her back, and then kissed her forehead. I think I heard him whisper, "I love you."

They were gently rocking back and forth, locked in the sweetest of hugs. I could see her eventually becoming the one and only Mrs. Hicks.

Carlisle left, and Hicks walked me down to a Metro stop. "You feeling OK?" he asked.

"I'm fine," I said. "You?"

He nodded. "There's something I gotta do. I hope you don't mind."

"Where're we going?"

"We're going to Arlington."

* * *

I don't see myself getting buried at Arlington National Cemetery. Maybe my thoughts will change down the road, but, for now, I don't see it. I was recruited from prison, and I don't feel like I've redeemed myself. I shouldn't receive any such honors.

Anyone reading this is probably thinking that, by now, I should know not to beat myself up so much. I'm sorry to disappoint you.

It was fairly quiet at the cemetery. There were several people way, way off standing by a headstone, presumably one of a family member. The groundskeeper was kneeling in front of a stone near us, carefully adjusting a pot of flowers someone had left there. He looked up when Hicks and I approached, saying, "Hey there, boys. Need anything?"

"Not really," Hicks replied. "How's Paulson's grave?"

"Only difference between now and the last time you visited is his widow came by Christmas Eve to leave another poinsettia. That's it."

"Thanks." Hicks kept walking deeper into the cemetery, pausing when he came to a single headstone. He knelt, and as I moved closer, I saw Paulson's full name and rank and birth and death dates on it. There were four small, plastic poinsettias by the grave, along with other flowers and mementos.

I wanted to give Hicks his space, so I knelt a couple yards away. I tried to keep my torso straight, but that got a little uncomfortable after awhile, so I sat with my legs crossed, silently cursing my incision and whoever it was that made it larger than what it was said to be.

Hicks started sobbing. It wasn't loud or hard, but he was definitely sobbing. I could see his body racking, and tears falling in the dirt. Quietly, I moved closer to him, and put my arm around his shoulder.

"Hey, I think he'd be proud of you," I whispered. "I know sometimes you don't think about it, but you've helped us a lot. I know you've said you need to back off from helping me at times, but try to think about . . . what could've happened if you didn't step in the first place. I probably wouldn't be here with you."

Hicks nodded. "You're right." He took a deep breath, two tears rolling down his cheeks. "Sometimes, I wonder what'd be different if he was still here. Maybe I would've developed bipolar regardless."

"Does stuff like that run in your family?"

"I don't know. Next time I take some leave, I'll have to talk to my parents about it. I send them a letter once a month, but . . . I don't really tell them everything. I can remember them telling me to really think about what I'm doing. They knew damn well that I wasn't very emotionally open, and they were afraid that the different environment of the military would set something off, that it's not a good place to hone your emotions. They're not wrong, but I'd made my choice and I wasn't backing out." Hicks put a fresh cigarette in his mouth. After putting a lighter to it, he took a quick draw, and pulled it out, exhaling smoke into the gentle breeze that came by. "They also knew I wasn't gonna do well in college. I've been out in the country most of my life, and I'm more of a hands-on worker than an intellectual. I like it when people seek me out for help, but I'm not comfortable with the other way around."

"How come?"

"I dunno. I've had a lot of instances where people shot me down when I offered help. Since I could walk, I'd spend summers on my uncle's farm, working. Once, he sent me to his neighbor's farm because the guy was really sick and needed help. Now, I'm a polite person. I don't just barge onto people's properties and milk their cows, so, I drove my ATV up the drive-it's a really nice place. You got your fields, and then there's the woods. Get on the right hill and you can see the river. Anyway, I walk up to the porch, knock on the door. He doesn't have anybody-no wife, no kids-so he shuffled out to the main room in his bathrobe, and gave me a dirty look. Opens the door and says, 'Who are you and what to do you want?' I said, 'Sir, I'm your neighbor's nephew. He said you needed some help around the farm.' Expression doesn't change. 'I don't need your help.' Slams the door in my face. I left. I was not about to start doing things on my own, because I was genuinely afraid that if I didn't get off his land soon, I was gonna get shot like a fox in the chicken yard."

"Geez," I said. "And you never offered help to anyone since?"

"No, I kept trying. At school, I tried to help with drives and bake sales, but they'd give me an odd look and say, 'No. We don't need your help.' I'd simply nod and leave. The more I got turned away, the more I decided to just back off, let people come to me. It was the military that helped me come out of that little shell. Paulson, especially, tried to help me read how other people are feeling and figure out why they turn me down when I'm the nicest person they've ever met. That's how I learned that the way people say things is just as important as what they say. That's how I've figured out how to understand you. You show a lot more with your body language than your actual words. Honestly, that was one of the big hints for me that you'd developed PTSD after the lab next to Gateway-every time you said you were fine, I could tell you weren't."

"How come you didn't say anything earlier?"

"Because I was scared. I had a feeling you were going to fight this until it got to be really bad. Not to mention, I did try, and you flew off the handle."

I sighed, and nodded. "That is true."

"You've got help now, and that's what's important." Hicks looked back at Paulson's headstone. "I'll come back next year, I promise," he whispered.

Helping me stand, we left the cemetery, heading back toward the Metro platform. Hicks was quiet for the whole ride back to base. He stared out the window, his mind clearly elsewhere. Frankly, I was glad we got to sit and talk like that; it let me know he really was trying to get better.

At the same time, I could feel that he still had a ways to go.

* * *

_Question: Do you think Hicks actually knows that Drake and Vasquez are dating, but chooses not to say anything?_

_Author's Note: A few days ago, I saw that "artists' favorite shipping tropes/dynamics" was a trending thing. I didn't contribute, but I did think about the different couples I've written throughout the series, like how Vasquez fits the trope of "will only express emotion in front of that special someone," and Drake is "stubbornly loyal no matter what his partner's flaws are." Hudson and Miranda are a pair of goofballs. Wierzbowski and Eliza are awkward and dorky but adorable nonetheless, and Hicks and Carlisle are rarely physically affectionate, but when they are, it's cute.  
_

_Also, Wierzbowski saying, "She's just so small, I'm afraid of hurting her," is one of my favorite lines I've ever written now._


	13. Chapter 13

In the days since Hicks took me to Paulson's grave, I've noticed he's been slowly returning to his regular self. He went back to going around and helping us and trying his best to be a friend and older brother-figure to each of us.

It also wasn't hard to see his energy was draining _fast_. I anticipated a depressive crash soon, but I prayed that didn't happen. At the same time, I felt like it had to happen. You can't get off that path once you're on it; you have to crash, or else you're gonna go through a cycle of bottling your emotions even further and it's going to be nasty when they finally explode.

I had a night when I couldn't sleep. I had a lot of pain in my lower back from forcing myself to keep certain postures all day, so I took some medicine to help. While waiting for it to work, I quietly went out into the hallway, and down to Hicks's room.

He wasn't in his room. I crept in, and looked in the bathroom, seeing nothing. The worst-case scenario appeared in my mind, and I checked everywhere for his shaving razor-or anything he could use to hurt himself.

Nothing seemed out of place, so I was starting to get confused. Not to mention, I was feeling guilty for going through his things, but I think people would understand if I told them I was afraid Hicks might be thinking of harming himself.

I left his room and headed to Wierzbowski's. I gently shook him awake, and he slowly sat up, mumbling, "What's the matter, Drake?" He groaned, and stretched. "What time is it?"

"Hicks is AWOL," I whispered.

"What?"

"I said, Hicks is AWOL."

Wierzbowski was clearly still half-asleep, but he was undoubtedly concerned because you never hear "Hicks" and "AWOL" in the same sentence. He rolled out of bed and grabbed his boots, hastily putting them on before tucking his shirt in (yeah, we may not be in boot camp anymore, but you'll still get yelled at if you're caught wandering around with an untucked shirt).

We decided to go down to the gym first. The room seemed a lot larger when it was dark and empty, and the echo of your voice is more audible. We walked around, searching for any signs that someone had been in there recently. Nothing.

Wierzbowski covered a yawn with his hand. "Drake, I think we should wake up Apone and have him deal with this. Hicks could be anywhere and there's no way the two of us are going to find him before the night is out."

I sighed. "Something's wrong. I can feel it."

"You're fucking exhausted. That's what you're feeling. Go to bed. I'll wake Apone."

* * *

In the morning, I found out that Hicks wasn't exactly missing. He was with Carlisle. They decided to have a night alone together, and Apone granted Hicks permission to go.

What annoyed me was that Hicks didn't tell any of us. On one hand, I get it, but I also thought he trusted me. After all, he did take me to Paulson's grave. That means something, right?

That annoyance didn't last too long. Hicks returned shortly after breakfast, and he took me aside to talk about his night with Carlisle. They got a hotel room because there is no way in hell they'd be able to sleep in the same bed on base without getting caught (they haven't had years of practice like me and Vasquez), and when I say "sleep," I mean it. There was no funny business between them, and I believe it. Hicks is going to remain a virgin until he gets married and decides to have kids.

This was all part of their plan to make more positive memories. I'll admit, a night of just cuddling and talking about whatever's on your mind sounds positive, so when Hicks was done talking, I went to find Vasquez.

She was outside on the path through the woods we ran on a couple weeks ago. I guess she just wanted some time alone, because she was walking instead of running. I tiptoed up behind her, grinning, and then grabbed her in a hug. "Good morning, sweetheart!"

Vasquez cursed at me in Spanish, and went to punch me. Her fist must've been a half-inch away from my belly when she remembered my bandage, and stopped. So, she slapped me across the face. "_Don't do that!_" she hollered.

I laughed before taking her face and kissing her forehead. "I'm sorry, honey. You forgive me?"

"Are you bored or something?"

"A little. Mind if I walk with you?"

Vasquez thought for a moment, and shrugged. "It's just you, so . . . fine." She took my hand before we started walking.

"Everything OK?"

"I'm just glad you're OK. So far."

"Well, you almost changed that by punching me."

"I didn't punch you, though."

"I know. But you came close." I kissed her. "Did you feel like visiting me tonight?"

"Are you saying that because Hicks and his girlfriend went out last night?"

I frowned. "Maybe . . ."

"Fine."

I hugged her, and kept holding onto her as we walked. "I love you, sweetie."

Vasquez patted my cheek and ran her fingers through my hair. "Any other reason you're acting particularly mushy today?"

"No. I've missed you." I rested my head on top of hers. "I bet it was you who wrote 'get well soon, asshole' in the card Hudson brought me in the hospital."

"It was. How'd you figure it out?"

"I just know. Also, it was definitely your handwriting." I put my nose in her hair. "Never stop using the mango-scented stuff. I love it."

"Too bad. I bought green apple a few days ago."

"Aww."

There was a point where we turned back because we didn't really want to go the full ten miles of trail. I didn't want to let go of Vasquez, but I did when we came back to the exercise yard on base, where I joined Hudson and Wierzbowski at one of the metal tables in the corner of the yard.

"Have a nice walk with your beloved?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Yeah," I said. "What're you two up to?"

"That's a good question, man," Hudson replied. "We haven't been doing anything."

"That's fine. It's nice to just do nothing once in awhile." I folded my arms before putting my head on the table, giving a yawn.

Wierzbowski followed suit. "Don't do that, Drake." He put his head in his hand, leaning on his elbow. "Make us all sleepy."

I smirked a little. "Well, I did wake you up at an ungodly hour, so, you were probably already tired."

We really did do nothing for a good chunk of time. I was glad to let my brain drain for that time. I didn't have to talk or think too much or worry. I did, however, briefly think about the lack of silver pearls in my body. It actually made me happy; I was finally clear of all physical traces of that stupid flower.

Well, at least I hope that's it. If something else happens, I will not be a happy camper.

I looked across the table at Wierzbowski. He looked really lost in thought, and I had a feeling he was thinking about Eliza. I knew that if something happened to me, he'd be with me every step of the way, making sure I didn't think about giving up.

I wish I knew how to express my gratitude.

* * *

Despite having a very satisfactory snuggle session with Vasquez that night, I was having bad dreams. The same horrors were reappearing, over and over. I was choking. I was trapped. I was watching my friends get hurt and I couldn't do anything to help them. What disturbed me was something I had seen in my nightmare at the hospital; someone shooting Hudson in the chest, and a mix of blood and a silver fluid were gushing out of the wound like a fountain. Why was I seeing that again? I've never witnessed Hudson get shot, so it wasn't a trauma-related dream.

I figured it would go away soon. Several parts of my nightmares have come and gone, though much of it has stayed the same, save for a couple changes, like the setting.

Well, I was wrong.

The night after, I saw myself walking into a nearly spotless grocery store. It wasn't very crowded, so it was pretty quiet. I walked down an aisle to the dairy section, and saw Hudson standing there with a fairly large handgun to the center of his chest. He grimaced before pulling the trigger, and I tried to scream. No sound came from my throat.

Blood and silver were pooling everywhere. It flowed down the aisles and around my boots and it soaked my pants when I knelt by Hudson. He was staring upward, a horrifying blankness slowly glazing his gray eyes as his life literally drained away. I sobbed, and I sobbed hard.

I shot upright in bed, gasping for breath, cold sweat running down my back. I pressed my blanket to my forehead, drying the sweat, and resisting the urge to cry. Without a second thought, I got out of bed, grabbing my robe before going next door to Hudson's room. He was, of course, fast asleep, snoring away.

Emotions were roiling and my heart was pounding as I shook him. "Hudson? Hudson, wake up. I need to talk to you. Wake up, please?"

Hudson awoke with a snort. He took a moment to realize what was going on, and then looked up at me. "Am I in trouble, man?"

"I don't know."

"Whaddaya mean, 'I don't know?'" Hudson sat up, looking at his clock. "You better have a good reason for waking me up at two AM, man."

I took a breath. "This is the third dream in a row where . . . I watch you get shot, and tonight . . . I watched you shoot yourself."

Hudson rubbed his face, and groaned. "Drake, I'm not suicidal. If you came here because your fucking nightmares are suggesting that I'm suicidal, go the fuck back to bed, man. I don't want to hurt myself. I'm not thinking about hurting myself. Your brain is loaded up on drugs, and you need to go get some sleep. God, this is why Hicks told you to go rest as soon as you came home! You're not letting yourself rest, man! You're wearing yourself out! Just stop it! Stop it, man! Get outta my room before I wake up the whole base."

He was probably right; I wouldn't have done what I did next if I was thinking clearly. Angry that he wasn't taking this the way I thought he would, I punched him.

"Oh, now, you're just asking for it, man!" Hudson socked me next, and got out of bed to try and shove me out the door. We scuffled out into the hallway, where Hudson managed to push me down. I felt a sudden sharp pain in my stomach when I landed, and let out a shrill sound as Wierzbowski pulled Hudson off of me.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?" Wierzbowski hissed.

Hudson must've come to his senses, because he was looking down at me in shock. "I didn't hit you that hard, man," he said, breathlessly.

Wierzbowski pulled my brace off, and cursed when he saw a spot of blood blooming on my bandage. "You fucking popped one of his stitches!"

"I didn't know!"

"You should've known!"

Guilt crashed over Hudson like a tidal wave. He was frozen in place, unsure of what to say or do. He was still standing there, outside his room, when Wierzbowski picked me up to carry me down to sick bay.

* * *

Dietrich was not happy about being woken up at this hour because two guys were being idiots and one of them got a stitch popped. She got dressed anyway, and set about repairing the incision. It wasn't something that required full-on anesthesia, but she gave me a local dose to numb me, and ordered Wierzbowski to keep me from watching her work.

I was definitely numb, but I could still feel a gentle pressure and movement on my belly.

Dietrich sighed under her mask as she finished up closing my wound. Without a doubt, she was telling Apone what happened, and I knew damn well he was not going to be happy.

Almost as soon as everyone was woken up for breakfast, Apone dragged me and Hudson down to his office to yell at us for fighting in the middle of the night. He spared nothing, and he laid it on thick for both of us because we each had a hand in this stupidity. First, I got chewed because of my reasons for waking up Hudson, and then Hudson got ripped into because he popped one of my stitches.

For this, we were banned from leaving the base for three days, and we had garbage duty, plus bathroom duty.

Actually, poor Hudson had to do most of the work today because Dietrich ordered me to take it easy. I wasn't allowed to lift anything or bend over too much, but Apone didn't want me to act like this was a break.

While we were cleaning Hicks's bathroom, he quietly walked over to observe us, and leaned against the doorway with his hands in his pockets. "You guys wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Sarge already told you, man," Hudson muttered, not looking up from scrubbing the toilet.

"I got his side of the story. I want yours."

Hudson glanced over at me. "Well . . . Drake came into my room last night because he was having nightmares. Now, I don't mind he comes to me 'bout his bad dreams, but . . . you know, it wasn't like most other times."

"I dreamt you shot yourself in the middle of a grocery store," I said. "I don't know why, but it's the third time I've seen you get shot in my dreams. The first two times, it was somebody else. This time, you did it to yourself."

"When did you start seeing this?" Hicks asked.

"My first night in the hospital."

Hicks nodded. "Ah, so, this was after the attack on the lab." He shifted his weight. "I guess you're still kinda shaken up over Doctor Hornby."

It made a little more sense now. Delhoun said that Hornby had gotten shot in the chest. "Why am I seeing Hudson, then?"

"He means a lot to you, and you don't want to see the same thing happen to him, or anyone you care about, for that matter."

Hudson actually smirked a little. "He loves me the most, man."

Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. "Then explain to me why I'd see him killing himself."

Hicks looked at me, calmly. "Drake, it's a nightmare. It's a manifestation of your worst fears. We've been able to travel through space and create cures and treatments for the worst illnesses, but the brain still remains a mystery. No one truly knows if dreams are precognitive. Just because you dream it doesn't mean it's going to happen. Trust me, I know it's . . . hard to understand that because a lot of your dreams contain stuff you've experienced, but in the end, it's still just a dream. I've dreamt that Paulson's still alive, but, when I wake up . . . I know he's not. You and Hudson know each other by the back of your hands; common sense should tell you he's not looking to hurt himself, and if you do seriously think something's going on, you go to me. Don't be waking people up in the middle of the night for stuff like this, OK?"

Unable to find the right words to say, I nodded. I knew he was right. It's not that unusual for me to overreact to my nightmares, and I have to gain better control over it.

Hicks got me out of my punishment duties to go talk to Doctor Ranelli. I felt bad for Hudson having to stay, but I was glad I was going someplace where I didn't have to worry too much about anything.

Ranelli set a cup of tea in front of me when I sat down. I wasn't surprised to learn that he, too, had heard about what happened last night, but he didn't press me about it. He did ask about my dreams involving Hudson, and after I described each, he was quiet, looking down at the table between us to think. "How close are you and Hudson?"

"In what way?"

"As friends. You've told me a number of times that you consider Hudson to be your best friend, yet over the last several weeks, I'm noticing a pattern; either you have turned to Wierzbowski, or Wierzbowski is the first to come to your aid. Is that correct?"

"I've turned to both of them, but . . . yeah, I have turned to Wierzbowski more. Most of the time, he's the one going to me because he knows I'm upset."

"That is definitely one thing I noticed about him when I was helping him get over his drinking issue. He has a very good grasp on reading people. He's very empathetic towards the people he cares about. That's not saying Hudson is unable to do the same thing; he does, in his own way. He's less in tune with it compared to Wierzbowski. It takes a lot more prompting for him to understand what you're feeling. However, I have gotten the impression that he has a great deal of self-consciousness when it comes to expressing negative emotions-sadness, anger, frustration, etcetera."

I nodded. "Either he blows up or he bottles it up."

"Exactly. Not unusual. He's aware of it, and that's why he may lean toward bottling it up more frequently. He may not outright tell you that he's worried about your relationship becoming . . . distant, or similar to a third wheel, but you subconsciously pick up cues that something is wrong. Your mind is constantly trying to figure out the 'why,' and at night, it paints awful pictures-of course, your PTSD doesn't help-of what could be wrong before you have a chance to rationalize it."

"That . . . makes sense, I guess," I said. "What I don't understand is why this could bother him."

"Perhaps the past has some answers."

* * *

I waited until after dinner to get Hudson alone, and I found him in his room, getting ready to take a shower. He didn't smile at me when he saw me in the doorway. "What's up, man?"

"Nothing. Mind if I talk to you?" I asked.

"Sure, go ahead." Before I could open my mouth, Hudson rubbed his face, and sighed. "Hold on, though, man . . . I'm . . . I'm sorry about last night. Dammit, it's been bothering me all day, and it's . . . just . . . I didn't mean to hurt you, man."

"I know. I'm not mad at you."

Hudson released his breath.

"Is there anything else bothering you? Anything at all? I'm your best friend, you can tell me anything."

"You'll keep it between us?"

I nodded.

"Just you, me, and your therapist."

"And Wierzbowski."

Hudson threw his hands up. "Sure! You trust him more than me anyway, man! Go ahead!"

_And there it is._ "That's not true. Look . . . honestly, there's no reason to get angry over this. I trust you and Wierzbowski the same."

Something fizzled out. Hudson sat on his bed, giving a heavy sigh. "Y'know, ever since Hicks became corporal, I . . . I've noticed how bad I am at my own emotions. I didn't know how to help him, even though I wanted to. Then, he kinda got better, and . . . I knew I didn't help at all. He was able to get better without my help and I took that as a wake-up call."

"Technically, he's still not better, but you didn't know."

"Whatever, man. I didn't know what to do, I got angry about it, and . . . took it out on Spunkmeyer. He was my best friend, my little brother, and I felt like such shit that I didn't believe I could ever help somebody with emotional problems, so I . . . started pushing him away. Since then, I don't . . . it's hard for me to call someone my best friend, because I'm afraid that I'm going to prove that I'm a failure and lose them."

I squeezed his shoulder. "If it makes you feel better, I don't think you're a failure."

Hudson weakly smiled. "Well, I probably should've said something to you sooner. It's probably too late to apologize to Spunkmeyer. He might not even remember."

"Tell you what; I'll talk to him for you. He likes me, so, things should go OK."

"I hope so, man."

* * *

_Question: If each member of the trio (Drake, Hudson, and Wierzbowski) were assigned a role or trope (i.e., the smart guy, the funny one, etc.), what would they be?_

_Author's Note: I'm guilty of mixing my Colonial Marines with my Harry Potter, so I've been trying to mentally avoid calling our three dorks "the Golden Trio" (but I do know that Hudson is a Hufflepuff, Drake is a Slytherin, and Wierzbowski is a Ravenclaw).  
_

_Also, I'm sorry that the alternate-ending story took so long to get off the ground. I was a lot more motivated to work on Spunkmeyer's story, and was still trying to work out the knots (like making a good title, for example) of the alternate ending. I'm also planning on making a "bonus section" of nothing but post-"Aliens" fluff after the Marines return to Earth. There will be wedding bells. Lots of 'em._


End file.
